


Metamorphoses

by Fyre



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Skinny!Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-13 10:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2147925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when changes come, they do not always come at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Form of Man

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came from a post that was kicking around on tumblr a few weeks back and lodged in my head. Now, you're being lumbered with it ;)

The serum didn’t work.

Steve’s throat was tight from screaming in pain, but he wanted to scream more, in frustration, when they opened the machine around him. Erskine looked at him with sympathy and disappointment, and that was the last thing Steve ever wanted to see on the man’s face.

Their audience didn’t stick around.

Who would for a ninety-pound bag of bones who couldn’t even get through basic without a goddamned nebuliser?

“I’m sorry, doctor,” Steve said quietly as they unhitched him from the straps.

Erskine shook his head. “This is not your fault, Steven. This is my doing.” He sighed. “The serum was a hope, nothing more. Hope is not solid. If this was a certainty, then they might have blamed you, but this? No. This was not your fault.”

Steve nodded, but he knew they’d blame him anyway. They could have used Hodge, someone with muscle, but Erskine chose him. He knew what he looked like. God knew he’d been told enough.

He heard the click of heels approaching and couldn’t face looking up to see the expression on Agent Carter’s face.

She held out his shirt to him. He took it, pulling it on self-consciously, his back throbbing from the after-effects of the serum boiling in his blood. She didn’t walk away and he could feel her eyes on him as he did up the buttons.

Finally, he reluctantly lifted his eyes to hers.

She wasn’t looking at him with pity. She was looking at him as she always did.

“I think,” she said, “we ought to get something to eat, don’t you? You look like a toast-rack on legs.”

Fifteen minutes later, she led him into the diner they had driven past on the way to the secret facility. Steve wasn’t sure what he was meant to say or do. Colonel Phillips had dismissed them with a grunt and a wave, and no one seemed to know or care what he was meant to do now that it was over.

Agent Carter slid into one of the booths and looked at him expectantly. He slid in opposite her, setting his hands in his lap.

She ordered them both food, then waved the waitress away and folded her hands together on the table.

“You seem disappointed,” she said.

He laughed tightly. “Is it that obvious?”

She sighed. “You don’t need to be a muscle-bound hero to be useful.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, bitterly. “I could collect scrap metal like Timmy.”

The leather of the booth creaked as Agent Carter leaned back. He could feel her eyes fixed on him and looked up. She said nothing, only raising her eyebrows.

“What? It’s true and you know it! They wouldn’t let me in the army.”

“You didn’t strike me as the self-pitying kind, Private Rogers,” she said, “and as I recall, you _are_ in the army.”

Steve felt like the air had been driven from his lungs. Erskine told him that he had a chance, and that was all. The experiment had failed, so he’d figured his chance was blown. “I’m still going to be a soldier?”

Agent Carter tapped her nails lightly on the table. “Do you really think that all an army needs is big strong soldiers?” she said. “Do I need to remind you to whom you are talking to?”

His heart was racing, and he tried to breathe deep to slow it. Sometimes it worked, but even if it didn’t, it was better than hyperventilating. Last thing he needed was to get overexcited and set off his asthma as well. 

“I just figured that I’d done what I was brought in for,” he said.

“A test subject, yes,” she said. “They were only looking for certain aspects. Didn’t you wonder why I was the one assessing the recruits? Erskine was looking for someone for his experiment. I was looking for something else entirely.”

Steve stared at her and she smiled slightly.

“Oh, don’t look at me as if you are completely gormless, Rogers,” she said. “You’re a clever man. I have spoken with Colonel Phillips, and he agrees we have a need for men with a brain as well as those with muscle. You have a role you can play that doesn’t involve scampering about on a battlefield, trying to get yourself shot.”

He stared at her, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “You want me to join the SSR?”

She inclined her head. “I see the vita rays didn’t entirely scramble your wits.”

He didn’t have a chance to reply when the waitress brought over their plates. Agent Carter smiled pleasantly at the girl, and waited until she withdrew, before turning her attention back to Steve. 

“Well?”

Steve looked at her over the steaming plate of food. “You’re serious?”

She nodded once. “Absolutely,” she said, “though you should be warned that you cannot expect any preferential treatment. You would be an Agent within the SSR and accountable for your own actions and behaviour.”

It felt like a massive weight had been lifted from him. He was going to be able to do something, and it wasn’t just sitting in the sidelines.

“I’m in,” he said at once. 

Her smile was warm. “Good,” she said, then picked up her fork. “Now, eat something. We may not need muscle, but you look like you haven’t seen a decent meal in weeks.”

He snatched up the fork and started cutting into the eggs. Real, honest-to-god eggs. 

The last time he’d had eggs, it was one single egg mixed up with some milk and water and scrambled up until it was a big as possible. The golden yellow of the yolk on the plate made his stomach growl.

It took him four mouthfuls before he remembered Agent Carter was sitting opposite him, watching him shovel food into his mouth like a starving animal. He swallowed self-consciously. “Wasn’t allowed to eat since yesterday,” he said, as if that was the only reason he had a smear of yolk running down his chin.

She just offered him a paper napkin and smiled. “Well,” she said, “we can’t have that.”

 

_______________________________________________

 

The SSR called them back to London.

Erskine was to remain in the United States, doing further development on his serum, out of the reach of Schmidt. Peggy was privately relieved. There had been too many threats against the poor man when they were still in Europe. America was at least a little safer for him.

She was seated beside Private Rogers on the aeroplane that was to carry them across the ocean, and she watched him with amusement as he pressed his nose to the window as they took to the air.

“I expect you’ve never flown before?” He didn’t seem to hear her, and she touched his arm lightly. He startled, glancing at her. “First time seeing the world from this high?”

He nodded, looking back out the glass. “It’s beautiful.”

She looked over his shoulder at the coastline of America and the blue of the sea between the scudding clouds. “It is rather,” she agreed. She couldn’t help but notice that for all he was staring out the window, his bony hands were clenched around the arms of the seat. “It makes me feel rather small,” she murmured. 

He nodded, tearing his eyes from the window. He looked pale, a little green around the edges. Peggy had flown enough to recognise that look and withdrew a folded paper bag from her small kitbag. 

“You may need this,” she said, “and if you do, I have a tin of mints for after.”

He looked at her guardedly. “I’m okay.”

She shook open the bag. “That’s as may be,” she said, “but I would rather that if you were ill, it wasn’t on my shoes.” She proffered the bag to him again. “I have done this before, and this is a precaution.”

“It’s not as bad as the Cyclone,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her.

“The Cyclone?”

One side of his mouth crooked up. “It’s at Coney Island,” he said. “It’s a ride. Buck… my best friend dragged me onto it after we had ice cream and soda. He regretted that.”

“What happened to your friend?” she asked, curious. No one had come to see Steve off. It wasn’t a surprise, given the brief notice they had, but he hadn’t mentioned going to see anyone before they shipped out.

He looked back at out the window, and she could see the muscle in his cheek tighten. “He signed up,” he said. “Joined the 107th. They shipped out the day before I came to Lehigh.”

She could imagine the frustration he felt. 

Seven years earlier, she had been taken aside and quietly and politely informed that while her interest in joining the forces was exemplary for such a young woman, she had no place on the battlefield. It was only good luck that had her placed in the right medical corps at the right time, to catch the right eye.

“We may be based in London, but there are occasions when we’ll be sent to the front line,” she offered. “You may be able to surprise him.”

A smile lit Steve’s face. “I’d like that,” he said, then winced, clutching a hand to his stomach. 

He folded over and barely got the bag to his mouth in time. The colour was gone from his face and Peggy rubbed his back in sympathy, as he retched.

“Sorry,” he muttered, accepting her handkerchief to wipe his mouth.

She smiled. “Believe me, Private, I have seen far worse,” she said. “You don’t work as a nurse for two years without being spattered with all manner of unpleasantness.” She leaned a little closer and added sotto voce, “Once even by your sea-sick commanding officer.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “The Colonel?”

She nodded conspiratorially. “It was a rough crossing from Dover. Never mention boats to him. He might not take it well.”

He eyed her. “You’re not just telling me this to make me feel better?”

“Perhaps a little,” she said cheerfully, “but it doesn’t make it any less true.” She plucked the bag from his fingers. “You stay here. I’ll fetch another, as a precaution.”

By the time she returned, a small bottle of water in her hand, he was back at the window, staring out. She pressed the bottle into his hand, sitting back down in the seat.

“Never thought I’d be here,” he confessed, looking at the bottle rather than at her. “I mean, I tried, but I never thought it’d work.”

Peggy hesitated, then patted his shoulder firmly. “Well, you are now. No backing out of it now. Buck up, Private Rogers. Anyone would think you weren’t pleased.”

His eyelashes lifted enough to let her see the bright blue eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”


	2. Less Troubled Than The Earth

The SSR headquarters were inside a massive building close to the government buildings. It looked like it should have been lived in by royalty. Maybe, once, it had been. It was all cut white stone and pillars and arches on the outside, but with brickwork and tunnels and layers of bunkers down below.

It was also much bigger than Steve had expected. 

Lehigh was an army base with different units all over it.

This place a quarter of the building was given over to the SSR, covering three levels above ground and more below. There were weapons development teams and map rooms and whole sections filled with the kind of files that Steve felt nervous about touching, because the secrets in them were potentially dangerous.

He was assigned to the intelligence team, responsible for collating the data brought in by the field operatives, updating the maps, and making sure than everyone was aware of relevant information that might be useful. 

Someone found out that he was okay at drawing, and the next thing he knew, he was scaling up sections of maps for reference. He’d spend hours bent over a desk, meticulously copying the marked out sections. Pride puffed up his chest when he saw his maps pinned up in the briefing rooms, scattered with markers where bases and camps were.

Maybe it wasn’t the same as fighting on the front-line, but he was learning more about war than any of his books had ever taught him.

The only trouble was that the place wasn’t as well-lit as he would have liked, and his vision was never one-hundred percent to begin with. Night after night, he avoided the mess and went back to his quarters with a thumping headache, putting out the light and lying in the darkness.

He was disturbed one night, about three weeks in, by someone knocking sharply on the door, and he stumbled over, squinting out.

“Yeah?”

Agent Carter was standing outside. She looked at him, and he could almost imagine she was looking at him with concern. Wishful thinking. He hadn’t seen her in weeks. “So they weren’t exaggerating,” she said, shaking her head. She caught him by the arm. “Come with me, Rogers. The doctor will need to speak to your personally.”

“Wait a second!” he exclaimed, pulling his arm free. “Doctor? I don’t need a doctor. I…”

Dark eyes looked at him critically. “Do be quiet, Rogers,” she said. “Your colleagues have noticed that your nose is practically against the paper when you work, and don’t imagine it has gone unnoticed that your room is dark from the moment you go in. We didn’t bring you here for you to damage your eyesight by trying not to make a fuss.”

It was insubordination to argue, but it was also habit.

“So I get headaches. It’s not a big deal. There are worse things.”

Agent Carter raised her eyes to the ceiling. “God save me from would-be heroes,” she said with a sigh. “Don’t make me pull rank on you.”

He huffed, but fell into step behind her, following her through the grand old building. He felt like a fraud, and if they knew his vision was screwed up, they wouldn’t even have any use for him drawing maps. 

Agent Carter planted herself at the door of the medical room as he entered. “I will be waiting here,” she informed him, in a tone that suggested if he tried to make his escape, he would most definitely not succeed.

The doctor was a plump man with unruly grey hair and a bright red face. He was reading over Steve’s enlistment form and the long screed of ailments as Steve sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair, and he glanced up, studying Steve’s face.

“I expect you have never had your eyes tested, have you, my lad?”

“Couldn’t afford it, sir,” Steve replied frankly. Medicine for his asthma had never been cheap, even with all the help his mom got from the hospital, and after she passed, he’d had to be even more careful. 

The doctor chewed on his lower lip as he continued to examine the papers. “We’ll start with that, then,” he said. “And if you were having trouble with your eyes, you should have mentioned it. They would have provided more light.”

Steve flushed. “I didn’t want to make a fuss, sir.”

The doctor waved away his words. “You’re a damned good cartographer,” he said. “Best to not blind yourself meanwhile.” He leaned forward, peering at Steve’s eyes. “You’ve been retreating to a darkened room a lot. I expect you have headaches?”

Steve nodded self-consciously.

The doctor smiled. “Well, we’ll have you back in some kind of working order in no time,” he said. “Something for the headaches for the moment, then the optometrists as soon as you’re able.”

All things considered, it went a lot better than Steve anticipated. Within three days, he was presented with a brand new pair of spectacles. A stronger lamp appeared at his work desk. Along with the pain pills, they pushed his headaches back.

Steve found he could work quicker with each map, following the contours and details. It became familiar: intelligence was brought in, a map was brought to him for re-drawing, and he would work until it was done. 

He even got teased by his team, a group of Englishmen, for being ‘too bloody keen’. Some of them were older, some of them younger, but for the first time in longer than he could remember, Steve felt like part of something.

They were talking over thin, weak tea one afternoon when Agent Carter entered the room.

Every one of the other men came to attention at once.

Agent Carter inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Gentlemen,” she said. Her eyes, however, were on Steve. “If I might borrow Private Rogers.”

Steve got up from his desk. “Excuse me, guys,” he said, picking up his jacket and following her out. He pulled on the jacket as they walked, fastening the buttons, then self-consciously smoothed his hair down.

She didn’t say anything to him, as she led the way up a long flight of stairs, through the building, and out of a door into the city. The sun was shining and he had to raise his hand to shield his eyes, dazzled for a moment.

“We’re going to another office?”

Agent Carter looked over her shoulder at him. “Not quite,” she said. “Since we have a brief respite, I thought you might like to take advantage of it. After all, being cooped up in the dust and damp all the time can’t really be good for anyone.”

He looked back at the building. She was right, of course. He had medicine, but sometimes, the air in the bunker made his chest pull tight, and sometimes, when he coughed, it hurt right down through his ribs. Some warm fresh air wasn’t a bad thing.

“Who else is going?”

There was something in her expression, a covert smile, that made his heart feel like it was flipping. “Just us,” she said. “Unless you require a chaperone?”

He swallowed hard. “Won’t people talk?”

She gave him a look that bordered on innocent. “Colonel Phillips was advised by our doctor that you should take some country air,” she said. “One must follow orders.”

He had a feeling he was grinning. “Yeah,” he said. “We can’t disobey orders.”

 

________________________________________

 

Technically, she was operating under orders, although with a somewhat radical interpretation of the text.

Colonel Phillips had called her in about Rogers’ medical files and grumbled that the doctors were making a fuss about the air in the bunkers potentially causing him problems and the need for him to get above the surface at least once or twice a week.

He hadn’t said specifically that she should take him on a pleasant drive down to a village in the north of Kent, where the late summer flowers were in bloom and the sun was warm on the daisy-spotted grass.

If anyone asked, she was paraphrasing.

Technically, the choice of location was two-fold: a bomber had been felled during a raid several nights earlier, and Stark insisted some vital part of the wreckage had been left behind, but the greater part of the decision rested on the fact that it was a decent distance from the city.

Steve sat in the passenger seat, rapt. London had impressed him, but the rolling fields and the open countryside seemed to mesmerise him. She wondered if he had ever even been beyond the boundaries of New York City before, or if he had seen greenery that wasn’t Central Park.

The crash site was on the outskirts of the village, so she parked the car on the edge of the village square.

“We have a short walk from here,” she said, reaching into the backseat to fetch her knapsack. “It shouldn’t be too far.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said, getting out of the car.

The scent of turned earth and the nature washed over her as she stepped out of the car. It reminded her of her childhood, and of chasing her cousins through the fields, in games of hide and seek that lasted for hours. 

She glanced over the bonnet of the car at him and had to smile. He had his eyes closed behind his spectacles and was breathing deeply, as if he could drink it all in.

“Less stuffy than London, isn’t it?” she said.

“It smells so alive,” he said, opening his eyes. “Thanks. For bringing me here.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s for the good of your health,” she said. “If you will follow me, Private.”

The village was picturesque enough, but the fields around it and the country lanes were even more so, dirt paths framed by dry-stone walling. She wasn’t the least bit surprised that Steve kept stopping to watch a butterfly or examine bright clusters of flowers that sprang out of hedgerows. The sun was warm enough that he even shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves over his thin forearms. 

Ahead of him, she spotted a bush thick with wild raspberries and plucked a handful. They were juicy, ripe and sweet.

“Is that safe?” Steve asked as he joined her.

“Where do you think your food comes from?” she said in amusement, holding out her palm.

He looked at the berries then back at her face. “I didn’t think you just picked them off any bush you walked by.”

“Well, no,” she agreed, as he picked one of them from her palm. His thin fingers were still cool despite the warmth of the day. “But since I used to pick raspberries every summer, I recognise them, and they’re fine.”

He popped one in his mouth, and she could see the moment the berry burst in his mouth. She didn’t even say a word, just holding out her hand to him again. He picked up a couple more, then glanced furtively at the bush.

“People don’t mind if we take them?”

“Not here,” she said. “It’s a thoroughfare, and the bushes grow wild.” She reached up and plucked his cap from his head, and turned it over. “If you don’t mind washing it later…”

Steve was ankle-deep in the long grass in a heartbeat, filling his cap with the plumpest berries. She perched on the edge of the stone wall, watching him. It felt ridiculous to be so charmed by the thought that he had never been berry-picking, and that he found it as delightful as she had.

When the cap was half-full, they continued on their way. Steve was more than generous with his harvest, holding out the cap to her for every berry he ate. His fingertips and lips were stained pink with the juice by the time they reached the field that was their destination.

It didn’t take long to realise that Stark’s request was in vain.

Even with Stark’s metal detector, they only found a handful of bolts and flakes of hull. If there had been any parts left behind, scavenger teams had no doubt been in and collected up any scrap metal that was left. The only signs of the crash were the burnt out indentations in the dirt and the furrows dragged through the golden swathes of barley.

“Do we have to go back right away?” Steve asked, as she climbed back over the stile. He gallantly held up his hand to help her down, his skin cool against hers. “To London, I mean.”

She smoothed down her skirt, aware that she had probably shown him a little more of her thigh than was necessary. “What do you have in mind?”

He glanced back along the path. “Do you think there are any other kind of berries around here? They taste better when you pick them yourself.”

Peggy couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t look,” she said. “We’re not expected back until evening.”

Steve’s face broke into the small, shy smile that he rarely showed anyone. He hesitated, then cautiously offered her his arm. “Agent Carter.”

It was such a quaint gesture from a boy from Brooklyn. 

“Private Rogers,” she replied, slipping her arm through his, safe in the knowledge that this was a moment for them alone.


	3. Capable of Lofty Thought

A letter had come in from Bucky, dated the seventh of August.

Sure, most of it was redacted, and Steve had no idea what his friend was really doing or even where he was based, but he was alive as of nine days earlier, and he had ink and paper and was trying his best to chew Steve out, even if some of what he had written was blacked out.

He sat on his bed in the night, reading the words over and over again.

“Dumb little punk” was in there. Insinuations about Steve’s intelligence and lack of common sense featured too. But all the way through, there was a feeling of relief that Steve was somewhere that he had people watching out for him. Yeah, it was the army, but it was somewhere he wouldn’t be left on his own.

Also, Bucky noted, it was somewhere he couldn’t just pick fights with everyone, because he’d get kicked out on his ass.

Steve leaned back against the wall, smoothing the page against his upraised knee.

He could write back and the military would make sure Bucky got the letter, but he didn’t know how much he could say. 

He could probably mention that he was working on maps. And his new glasses. He could probably even tuck in a sketch of what he looked like with them on, so Bucky could laugh himself sick. Buck always insisted he needed them, and he’d always denied it, but now, he looked like his grandpa, with thick black frames with horned-rims.

He sat back up from the wall, and swung his legs down off the bed.

Bucky would want to know about his health. 

Even on the front line, surrounded by his enemies, Bucky wrote that Steve better be looking after himself. A page-long letter, and he still managed to give him a lecture about not eating enough, not keeping on top of his meds, and that he better not be playing the hero and pretending everything was fine.

It was late and the halls were pretty quiet. It had been a long day, with intelligence coming in from a dozen sources at once. They’d worked flat-out all day, and most of them were having a well-earned drink in the mess.

Steve padded through the building, his boots hardly making a sound on the polished tiles, as he descended down the staircases into the bunker. He wasn’t sure what the rules were about using paper and ink for personal use, but he’d never got around to getting any of his own.

The map room was empty, and his desk was clear for once.

Steve found a fresh piece of white paper on Agent Hughes desk, and carried it back to his own, smoothing it out. His work station felt more like an artist’s bench, with pencils and charcoal and bottles of ink and pens with a dozen shapes and sizes of nibs. 

There were different colours of ink as well, but so far, that hadn’t become a problem. They only used reds and greens to mark out specific landmarks on the bigger copies of the maps, and if he had any doubts, he would just ask what kind of landmark he was looking at, then picked the correctly labelled bottle. 

He picked up one of the pens, checking the nib, and started writing.

_Bucky,  
Hope you’re staying out of trouble. I am. They got me a job working with maps. Someone figured I could draw. Bet your dad would love that, wouldn’t he? What was it he said? Art didn’t put bread on the table?   
It’s okay here. There’s always a lot to do and so many people all the time, but we got enough food and we got beds and blankets, so it’s good. And you’ll never guess - they made me get my eyes checked and got me spectacles. I’m officially Private Four-Eyes now. I swear to god I look just like my grandpa.  
I don’t know if you’ll be coming back to London any time soon or if we’ll be coming out where you are. The big chiefs don’t tell us much, but I like looking at the maps and trying to figure out where you are. No one’ll tell me if I’m right, but I like to guess.  
And since I know you’re going to ask - yeah, they give me medicine. They even send me out for fresh air outside the city so I don’t start coughing. I haven’t even had any colds or anything since I got here, even when it keeps raining. Maybe there’s something in the air. I just know I can breathe better here, and I don’t even have to use my nebuliser half the time.   
You have got to see this place, Buck. If you get over here, we have to go out into the country. It’s so goddamn beautiful. I never saw so much open space in my life. We went walking and picked berries straight off the bushes and ate them right there. They were the best berries I ever tasted.   
Let me know if you’re ever coming this way, Buck, and I’ll try and see if I can get some time free. Don’t be a stranger. And don’t do anything stupid, okay?  
Best wishes,  
Steve  
P.S. I’m enclosing a drawing of my ugly mug. Don’t you dare laugh._

He set aside the letter to dry, and picked up a scrap of leftover paper from his wastepaper basket, smoothing out the creases, trying to decide how to draw himself. 

He’d glanced at himself in the mirror more than once since he’d received his spectacles. Not out of vanity, but out of both surprise and confusion. He hadn’t realised just how unfocussed his vision was until he could suddenly see his face with pin-sharp clarity. Seeing that same face with glasses felt like he was looking at a stranger. 

He picked up a piece of charcoal and started sketching, outlining the shape of his face. He rested his left arm on the edge of his desk, leaning down over the image as he worked.

It wasn’t the first time he’d attempted to do a self-portrait, but it was the first time he’d tried to make it as accurate as possible. He was so caught up in getting it right than he didn’t even hear the approaching footsteps - of course he didn’t, they were on his left - or notice he wasn’t alone until someone touched him on the shoulder.

He damn near jumped out of his skin, twisting on the seat.

Colonel Phillips was standing right behind him.

“You done with art class for the day, Private?” he said.

Steve flushed, pushing the paper aside. “Yes, sir. Just writing a letter for a friend, sir.”

Phillips jerked his head. “You’ve been working on the data that came in today,” he said. “We got some more in and the rest of your boys have been letting their hair down for the last two hours. You sober, Rogers?”

Steve slid down from his stool, gathering up his letter and drawing. “Sir, yes sir.”

The Colonel strode out and Steve hurried after him. 

 

____________________________________________________

 

The coded messages were laid out on the desk in front of her, and Peggy’s head was throbbing. They had particular codes that were standard, but sometimes, when the situation was grave, older codes were used, or new variations.

It was always exhausting decoding, especially when the message was done with urgency and was as abbreviated as possible. 

“Any luck, Agent?” Colonel Phillips asked.

“Bellamy has identified a potential base, but he’s unsure if it is specifically HYDRA or if it is affiliated with the other Nazi scientific divisions,” she replied without looking up. “We have a description, but given the terrain and the territory, I’m not sure whether it’s one we have previously identified or not.”

“What does the description say?” Peggy turned to glance over her shoulder. Steve Rogers was standing by the Colonel’s side. He offered her a tentative smile. “I know the maps inside and out. I might be able to identify something for you.”

She rose from the desk, carrying over her notes to the large map table. There were a dozen rolled up maps stacked to one side and she dug out the correct one, spreading it on the table. It was a region in the alps, and the pinholes all over the map showed at least seven suspected bases. She weighted it down and held the notepad out to Steve.

“See what you can make of it, Private.”

He pushed his spectacles up his nose and read the notes. A line furrowed his brow and he chewed on his lower lip as he drew his fingertip down the page. Occasionally, he glanced at the map, then back at the page.

“What colour is that line?” he asked, tapping a point on the map.

“Red,” Peggy replied at once.

“And this one?”

“Red, but going dark green at the east end.”

He nodded, returning to frowning at the pad, then snatched a couple of pins from the carved hollow in the edge of the desk and stabbed them firmly into the map.

“It’s one of those two places,” he said. He ran his finger along two broken red lines that curved along above each of the pins. “The gradients on those two ranges are steep enough for the place he’s describing. Almost sheer, so I’d guess the base is hidden in the cliff-faces, but with enough open landscape to give them clear sightlines and defences.”

Peggy could see the surprise on Phillips’ face.

“How’d’you know so much about that, then, son?”

Steve shrugged self-consciously, handing Peggy back her notebook. “I read a lot, sir.”

Phillips snorted. “Gonna end up with an army of bookworms,” he grumbled. “You want to keep the librarian around, Carter? Or you done?”

“We have a general location identified, sir,” she said. “That was what we needed. I’ll see Private Rogers back to his offices.”

She could feel the Colonel’s eyes on her. “If you have to, Carter,” he said dryly. She could practically hear him adding ‘Yes, escort him and his map-reading skills that mean he’s sure to get lost in the wing of a building with two flights of staircases’. 

“Private Rogers, if you would follow me.”

She didn’t wait to see if Steve was following her, but halfway down the corridor she had to stop and turn to make sure he was. Perhaps it was the climate or perhaps it was having access to medicine, but his breathing was no longer rasping as audibly as before. 

He was less than three paces behind her and stopped when she did. 

“Thank you,” she said, “for your assistance.”

He lifted his shoulders with that small, slight smile. “It’s my job,” he said. “I have to play to my strengths and if reading a map is one of them, why not use it?” 

He fell into step beside her as they continued down the corridor. He seemed to be walking more lightly as well, she noticed. His footsteps seemed softer, but perhaps that was just her imagination. She stopped at the top of the flight of stairs that led back down to his office, and gazed at him.

“Tell me, Private,” she murmured, “did you know there’s a dance hall not far from here?”

She was watching him closely enough that she saw him swallow, his tongue darting along his lips. His breath hitched just for a moment, and he lifted a hand to smooth his hair down across his brow.

“I-” he began, then faltered. “No. No, I didn’t know.”

She waited for a moment, offering him the opportunity and the chance of an invitation. It was only fair to allow him that, after all. A gentleman’s prerogative. Even if the gentleman in question was blushing and biting his bottom lip.

It was, she supposed, a little too bold.

She drew back a step. “I may go,” she said placidly, “at some point.”

His hands were clenching and unclenching and then he blurted out, “Maybe you could show me where it is? I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.” He gathered himself and tried to smile more confidently. “You’re the best guide I have.”

She smiled. “There may be hope for you yet, Private,” she said.

She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away, and it made her smile all the more.


	4. Heat Ethereal

Steve didn’t usually like to go out on the town with the rest of his colleagues. There was a lot of drinking and smoking and dancing when the SSR operatives went out, and there wasn’t a one of those things that didn’t set off something in his body. He and Bucky had learned a long time ago that Steve was never going to be a Fred Astaire, especially not when he ended up in a wheezing pile of bones in the corner of the dance floor. 

And yet, he was sitting on a stool at the bar watching the people who were his colleagues and tentative friends dancing. There were a lot of women around, more women than men. More than once, he had to smile and shake his head and demur when one of the ladies came and asked him to dance.

He kept a half-empty glass in his hand as a preoccupation, but it didn’t stop them asking. 

The smoke wasn’t bothering him so much for once, and the bourbon he had in his glass was giving him a gentle buzz. It wasn’t making his head spin as much as it normally did. He even felt ballsy enough to ask for a refill. 

Jack Thomson, one of his colleagues from the cartography room, slammed down onto the stool beside him. He was a loud-mouth, but not a bad guy, and when he slapped Steve on the back, it was with affection.

“You should take up with one of them,” he declared loudly enough for everyone in a three metre radius to hear him. “These girls haven’t seen a bloke in weeks. You could have any one of them.”

Steve gave him a look. “Some of us aren’t thinking with our pants, Jack,” he said. 

Jack blinked at him, eyes only a little unfocussed with drink. “Why the hell not, Rogers? You do have a knob, don’t you?”

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “but maybe I’m more selective about who gets to use it.”

Jack gestured to the barman for two drinks. “More fool you, Rogers. Plenty of lovely skirts and you’re all… gallant.” He snatched up his glasses. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take care of a couple of them for you. Just so you can say you didn’t leave them high and dry.”

“You get as much as you like,” Steve said, waving him away. “Don’t blame me if you get the clap.”

Jack peered at him. “You, sir, are a frigid arsehole.”

Steve raised his glass. “With compliments like that, I’m sure you’ll have a great night.”

Jack tottered away with his drinks and straight into a cluster of women. Steve turned back to the bar, propping his arms on it and watching the flickering reflections of the dance floor in the panels of mirrors behind the bar.

His second glass was halfway to empty when, despite the volume of the music, he heard the click of heels on the floor behind him. He didn’t even bother turning, not to chase off another lady who had already drunk too much after eating too little. 

“Private.”

He went from seated to upright and spun around to face Agent Carter. 

His heart felt like it jumped to his throat and for the first time in weeks, he felt his breath tightening in his chest. Agent Carter was right there, in front of him, in a dark dress that clung to her curves and made his mouth go dry. 

One side of her mouth turned up, and he knew she liked the way he was blushing. 

“Agent Carter,” he managed. “I-I didn’t expect to see you here.”

She glanced over towards the dance floor, then back at him. “Well, one must have one’s entertainments, don’t you think?”

He was still holding his glass. Liquid courage had to help, right? He knocked back the contents, grimacing only a little as they burned down. “I guess so,” he said. He was staring like a jackass, but how could he not?

She stepped a little closer, and for the first time in his life, Steve felt like he should take a step back, because god, he didn’t know what the hell he was meant to do. Bucky was always the one to take point and nudge him forward.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked lamely. 

The glint in her eyes told her he was on the right track. “A sherry, Private,” she said, sitting up on the stool beside his. How the hell was he meant to keep his eyes in decent places, when she crossed one leg over the other, and he saw a glimpse of stocking and garter beneath the hem of her skirt.

He clambered back onto his stool, waving the bartender over, and hell, if he was going to make a fool of himself, better to blame the drink. He ordered a sherry and another shot of bourbon for himself.

“How are you finding your post?” she asked, resting her fingertips against the edge of her glass. “Not too tedious, I hope?”

“Not at all,” he said, clutching his own glass like a lifeline. “I get to hear what’s going on and see how I’m helping. It’s good.”

She slanted a look at him through her long, dark lashes. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t want to know that you’ll be shipping out to a base in Italy in eight days?”

Steve choked on his bourbon. “Wh-what?”

She was almost smiling, looking down at her glass. “We have need of someone with map skills in the field,” she said. “The Colonel made the final decision, based on your assistance when you located that base.”

Steve stared at her. “No one told me.”

Dark eyes met his. “What do you think I’m doing at the moment, Private?”

“I-,” he began, then smiled self-consciously. “I just didn’t figure I’d be told my orders in a bar by an agent looking as beautiful as you do.”

Agent Carter’s smiles were small, but they lit up her whole face like a sunrise. “I suppose I do look a little more alluring that Colonel Phillips,” she said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “that dress isn’t cut right for him.”

To his surprise and pleasure, Agent Carter laughed. “No, certainly not. It wouldn’t suit his figure.” She took another sip, then set down her glass. “I’m in the mood for dancing,” she declared, rising from her stool.

Steve’s face fell. “Well, there are plenty of guys,” he said. “Just watch out for Thomson. He has wandering hands.”

She gave him a look. “I have no interest in plenty of men,” she said. “I have my eye on one.”

Part of him wanted to yell that he didn’t dance, that he’d only last five minutes and have to find a seat to catch his breath, that his back would probably seize up and he’d ruin what had been a great five minutes by ending up in the medical bay.

The other part of him that didn’t give a damn offered her his hand and for the first time in nearly six years, Steve Rogers stepped onto a dance floor.

 

__________________________________________

 

Peggy was adept at forward planning.

For weeks, she had intended to take Steve Rogers dancing.

Accordingly, she had made damned sure that the band knew that the moment she stepped onto the dance floor, the music had best be slow. As much as Steve’s health was manageable, she didn’t want to be responsible for sending him back to the doctors as a broken, gasping wreck. 

He was slighter than her, still thin as a rail, but he didn’t seem to even notice that he had to look up to meet her eyes. His hand was at her waist, and the other cradling her fingers. He looked nervous, but then he often did around her. 

“I shoulda warned you,” he said, as they turned on the dance floor, “I’m probably going to step on your toes.”

“We all have our crosses we must bear,” she said lightly, leading him into another turn.

Someone wolf-whistled from the side of the floor, and Steve’s head snapped around, a tight line furrowing his brow, his jaw clenching.

“Problem, Private?”

He pulled his attention back to her. “I don’t like it when people make assumptions,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’re better than that.”

She smiled slightly. “And you’re very sweet to say so,” she said, “but believe me when I say I’ve had far worse.”

His hand tensed at her waist. “You shouldn’t have to,” he said quietly.

The tension was radiating through his whole body, and that could never be good for him. She lifted her hand from his shoulder to touch his cheek, making him look at her. She brushed her thumb along his cheekbone.

“Ignore them,” she murmured. “I demand your full attention, Private Rogers.”

Behind his glasses, she could see his pupils dilating. His chest was rising and falling and his eyes flicked to her mouth. His own tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on her.

They lasted to the end of the dance, and she was pleased to notice he wasn’t even breathing too hard. He offered her his arm, escorting her back to the bar. When he sat down, she couldn’t help noticing that his eyes were still darting her way beneath his lashes.

“Hardly important, I know,” she murmured, reclaiming her sherry. Their conversation in the car, only weeks earlier, was still very fresh in both their memories. “But I hope it wasn’t a disappointment, after the wait.”

“God, no,” Steve said. His voice sounded a tone deeper than usual, and there was colour in his cheeks. “Definitely not a disappointment.” The left side of his mouth curled up. “And your toes came out of it alive. That’s definitely a win.”

She smiled. “Quite so.”

He pulled his glass towards him, staring at it for a moment, then looked her way. “Your dress,” he said suddenly, “it’s the same colour as your lipstick, right?”

She glanced down, despite knowing full well what colour her dress was. “Yes,” she said. “I had hoped to coordinate.”

He looked her full in the face, so intently it was like he was committing her to memory all over again. “It looks good,” he said.

Before she could think to ask why he was asking, he dropped some coins on the bar and slid down from the stool again. 

“I need to go,” he said. “Thank you. For the dance, I mean.”

He looked distracted, and she was coming to recognise that expression. 

“Do you need a ride back to the barracks?”

He shook his head. “I think a walk’ll do me good,” he said, “clear my head. I think the bourbon’s getting to me.”

She had already been too bold by asking him to dance. It was outright forward to ask if he wanted to be accompanied, when clearly he didn’t. “Very well,” she said with a smile. “I’ll see you at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning, Private.”

He wove his way around the dance floor and towards the door. 

She waited until he was out of sight, then finished her drink, fetched her coat and left as well.


	5. Behold the Skies

There were five bottles of ink lined up in front of him. 

The light of the lamp was the same buttery yellow as usual, but the bottles were different.

Steve pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, then looked again.

For as long as he could remember, the world had been the same colours, dominated by blues and yellows. 

The doctors called it protanopia. They told him there was something wrong with his eyes, that he was missing a whole spectrum of colours, but he couldn’t see them, so he didn’t feel like he was missing out on them at all. He saw the world how he saw the world, and he was used to it that way.

And then suddenly, when Agent Carter’s fingertips were warm and smooth against his cheek, and his heart was pounding as fast as it ever had, between one blink and another, the shades of her skin changed. There was a warmer tone to it, a tone that wasn’t golden yellow, a tone that wasn’t anything he had ever seen before.

Her lips too.

Her lips were gleaming and lush. Her dress was the same strong, vibrant, intense colour, burning across his vision. Now, looking at the ink bottles, he could define the colour. Red. She was dressed in red. Her lips were red. The tones of colour pulsing beneath her skin were red. 

The doctors said there was no cure, that he’d never see like everyone else.

He wasn’t meant to see red. Or green. But right now, he could and he had, and the thought of the red of her dress and her lips and the flush of her skin was making him light-headed.

With shaking hands, he opened the bottle of red ink and took up his pen. He drew lines on a scrap of paper, staring at the way the colour paled as it thinned. It was bright and it was vivid and it changed everything. He sketched her there, in those vivid reds: her dress, her lips, and as the colour faded, the warmth of her skin.

Everything had been so much more than he’d imagined, and even if it was their only dance, he knew it was one he’d never forget. He tried to catch it in every scratch of his pen, the way she looked, bold, brilliant, beautiful. God, he didn’t know why she wanted to dance with him or be with him, but damned if he wasn’t going to bask in every moment.

He opened the green bottle too, trying that colour on the page as well. It was just as bright, in a completely different way. 

He was breathing hard, but his chest wasn’t hurting. His eyes were wet, stinging with tears, and god, he was laughing. He was laughing as he drew spirals and whorls of colours he had never seen before. He smeared ink on his fingertips, the red echoed in the shades of his own pale skin. He drew line after line in colour after colour.

Blood was red. Grass was green. 

Thinking beyond that made him dizzy with excitement. 

If it lasted, if he could see those colours, the whole world outside the building was going to look different. Everything was going to look different.

He scrambled up, abandoning the ink. If it didn’t last, he might never have the chance again. He grabbed a flashlight and ran up the staircase, taking them two at a time, asthma be damned. He wasn’t even breathing hard when he hit the street. He sprinted along towards the Parliament buildings and the square there.

The gates were locked, but his heart was pounding and the fences didn’t look that high. He shoved one foot up onto a decorative twist of iron, then another, and hoisted himself up. His back didn’t lock and his hands didn’t slip, not until he let go, to drop and roll onto the grass.

There were at least ten different shades of green, even just in that little patch of garden, and he tilted the leaves and the blades of grass into the light of his flashlight. The vibrancy took his breath away and he darted this way and that, looking at every different plant. There were even flowers in colours that were somewhere between blue and red, but not quite either.

He picked one of them with a cluster of the green leaves around the stem, and headed back to the fence.

From the inside, it seemed a lot taller.

He tucked the flower into the front of his shirt, the flashlight between his teeth, and took a deep breath. That made him stop short. A deep breath that made his lungs expand with no effort? He took the flashlight from his mouth and tried again. It felt natural, easy, and he remembered he hadn’t got out of breath when he was dancing or running.

The serum.

It had to be the serum.

He put the light back between his teeth. This time, when he climbed, he paid attention, waiting for the burn in his back of bones and muscles pulling the wrong way. It didn’t come, not even when he reached the top of the fence. He looked down at the drop.

What the hell.

If he could climb without effort, maybe he could jump too.

He braced his hands on the edge of the fence and jumped. 

 

_________________________________________

 

 

Peggy tended to sleep little. 

More often than not, she was at the bunker before anyone else, except perhaps Stark. 

It wasn’t as if there was a dearth of things to do. No matter how late she stayed or how early she departed, there was always something ready to be dealt with on her arrival, whether it was a telegram or another coded message or even an irate soldier trying to bully her away from her desk.

It was a sad fact that far too many of the men in their division felt they could order her about or insist they know what was best for her. Far too many of them also thought they were far brighter than her. In most cases, it was far from accurate. 

Even as she left the club the night before, several of them tried to coerce her into staying a little long. One of them even offered to show her how a real man could dance, not ‘scrawny yank runt’. He had ended up on his knees on the pavement, clutching his groin, and his friends had backed off remarkably quickly.

Men, she thought, as a whole, were rather foolish.

There were a few exceptions, and one of them had danced with her the previous night.

It was very difficult to steal a moment to see him, especially lately. The fact they were able to run into one another at the club was less happy coincidence and more very careful scheduling, and listening to the gossip within the office. It was worth every rushed moment.

All the same, even though she was late to bed, she was still early to rise.

She was walking along the deserted Parliament Street towards the headquarters, when she chanced to raise her eyes and spotted a pair of legs dangling over the upper balustrade of the building. It took her a moment to recognise the owner of those legs, and her heart felt like it leapt to her mouth.

There were only two entrances to the roof, and by the time she raced out onto the smooth stonework of the rooftop, she was quite out of breath.

“Steve?”

He was sitting on the broad stone at the east side of the roof, and glanced back over his shoulder. He frowned. “Agent Carter?”

She approached him cautiously. “What are you doing up here?”

His face broke into a smile, and he motioned out over London. “Look at that,” he said.

She had scarcely noticed the sun was rising, but over the city, the colours were tinting the buildings with soft golds and hues of orange and purple. There were a handful of clouds scudding here and there, changing colours with the dawn.

She approached the railing to stand beside him. “It’s quite beautiful,” she agreed, resting her hands on the stonework beside him. He was smiling beatifically, and for some reason, he had an iris cradled in his hands.

“Have you slept at all, Steve?” she asked, wondering just how much bourbon he had drunk the night before. He tended towards the grand gestures, but she had never imagined him as the type to sit on the edge of a roof over such a drop.

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to miss a second,” he said. He breathed in, then out again, an oddly blissful sound. “Does it always look like this? All these colours?”

“When it’s not raining, yes,” she said. “Steve, are you all right?”

He nodded, gazing out over the city. “Better than ever,” he said. He patted the stone rail beside him. “Watch it with me?”

She sat down cautiously, her back to the edge of the balustrade, one eye on him.

He didn’t look distressed. He looked happy. Happier than she’d seen him.

He didn’t speak until the sun had crested over the horizon, the reflection gleaming on his glasses.

“I think the serum might be working,” he murmured.

Peggy pulled her gaze from the sunrise back to him. “What?”

He turned to look at her, and lifted his hand to remove his glasses. His eyes looked the same, if a little brighter with unshed tears. “The serum,” he said. “I can see colours I couldn’t see before.” He held up the iris between them, offering it to her. “Like this. I don’t know what colour it is, but I can see it.”

Peggy took the flower from his fingers carefully. “Purple,” she said softly. “You can really see colours now?”

“Reds especially,” he said with a nod. He laughed unsteadily. “First time I saw that colour and it was on you. Your dress, in your skin…” His eyes flicked down to her mouth again and back. She heard the hitch in his voice. “Your lipstick.”

Peggy wondered if that same redness was returning to her cheeks. “Is it only your vision?” she asked, running her fingertips along the edge of the flower’s petals.

He shook his head. “It’s everything,” he whispered. “I can run. I can climb. I can _breathe_.”

“I had wondered,” she admitted, laying the flower down between them. “You seemed even quieter, you know. I could barely hear you moving, let alone breathing.” She lifted her face and his was close to hers. Her mouth felt momentarily dry. “Like that.”

“You look different,” he said, his eyes searching her with an intensity that quite stole her breath away. “I mean, I know it’s only a colour, but…” He reached out, catching a curl of her hair, tilting it in the light. His fingertips brushed her cheek. They were warm and she could feel the heat in her skin. “Is that…” He pulled his hand back, his own cheeks flushing. “Is that what blushing looks like?”

“You ought to look in a mirror,” she said, watching the way he caught his lower lip between his teeth, watching the way she still made his breath catch. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, smoothing his hands down his pants. “God, I just got so…”

She grabbed him by the tie and pulled him forward. “Excited?” she asked. His pupils were wide and dark and she could feel his heart racing against the back of her hand.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That.”

She had a feeling her eyes were shining as much as his. “Good,” she whispered, and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep forgetting to mention you can track me [on tumblr](http://amuseoffyre.tumblr.com/) to see what I'm working on :D


	6. With Wasting Waves

What happened on the roof was a secret.

Not just the kiss - although Steve would have happily shouted from the rooftops about that - but the fact that the serum was working at all. 

It was working, but it wasn’t having the results it was meant to. Erskine had spoken about advancing humanity into something better, but so far, the only effect it was having on Steve was to clear up his health problems. If the results were limited to improving his vision and straightening out the problems with his chest and his back, it was great, but for all they knew, it might just be temporary or it might be the start of something else.

Until they knew what was going on, both of them agreed to keep things quiet.

It was definitely helping his vision. 

His headaches returned the day after he started seeing new colours. He wore his glasses all the time, but that only made things worse, so he finally gave in and removed them, only to see the world in perfect focus without them.

A few people noticed he wasn’t wearing the glasses anymore, but Project Rebirth had been a need-to-know operation, and not many people in the cartography rooms knew anything about it. They just figured his headaches were improving. 

None of them put two and two together, not even when Steve was caught running up and down the stairs to see how long it took him to get out of breath. Most of them figured he’d got some new medicine for his asthma.

It was a good thing, he realised, that he was getting shipped out to their base overseas. He would be somewhere only Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips would know about his medical history, and Phillips would be too busy to notice that Steve Rogers could probably do the whole assault course from basic without ending up wheezing.

Not many people paid attention to him anyway, but that had always been the way. People didn’t notice the little guy. Only one person knew what was going on, and she was the only person who had paid enough attention to notice the changes.

By the time they were packing up to take the ship to Italy, he could do basement to roof of the building in less than five minutes, without getting out of breath at all. He even considered scaling the wall, instead of using the stairs, just to see if he could. 

When he idly mentioned the idea to Agent Carter, she leaned closer and calmly informed him that if he was shot down off the wall as a suspected spy, she would spread all manner of malicious rumours about him, and blacken his name so much that he might even be considered a traitor. 

“You wouldn’t,” he said indignantly.

Dark eyebrows rose. “Try me, Rogers,” she said. “If I have to send people to scrape your brains off the pavement, you would be astonished how cross I might be.”

If they hadn’t been in the main forecourt of the building, he might have kissed her again. She looked amazing all the time, but when she was angry and passionate, her eyes shone, and he was starting to wonder if that was what being in love felt like.

He didn’t see her again until they were boarding the ship, and she swept past him, a small smile curving her lips. He shucked his pack further up his back and hurried to catch up with her. She was standing on the port side of the ship as they left the dock, families and friends of the crew and the soldiers waving up at them. 

“I see you resisted your primate urges,” she said lightly, waving to the people below. 

“Primate urges?”

She smiled without looking at him. “Climbing the side of the building.”

“I didn’t want to get shot off,” he said, then looked at her suspiciously. “Would that have even happened, if I tried?”

“Oh yes,” she replied. “I would have made sure of it.”

He propped his arms on the railing, grinning. The wind was picking up and the smell of the salt air was washing over them. “I guess there are no buildings for me to climb where we’re going?” he said.

“Why do you think we’re taking you?” she said, lifting one hand to repin a loose curl. “We can’t just leave you running around in a city and getting into trouble all the time.”

Steve looked at her. “I have to introduce you to Bucky,” he said. “He’ll fill you in on all the ways I can get into trouble without being able to climb.” He shook his head with a smile. “I bet he even has a list.” He was silent for a second, then asked, “Will we be stationed anywhere near the 107th?”

Agent Carter drew back from the rail. “I can make inquiries, but at present, I don’t believe so,” she replied. “We’re further south, closer to the Mediterranean, at least in the meantime.” She noticed his face had fallen. “We tend to be redeployed a great deal,” she added. “We may end up in his area sooner or later.”

Steve nodded. “And I’ll be closer than I am now,” he agreed.

“Much,” she said with a smile.

They were still standing too close to one another, he realised. It wasn’t as close the dance or the rooftop, but god, he wanted to reach out and take her hand or something. He couldn’t, not with so many people around, but he wanted to, and he knew she knew it.

“Agent Carter!”

They both recoiled a step from one another, turning towards the speaker. 

Steve inwardly winced. Howard Stark. He hadn’t seen the man since the procedure, and when he was helped down from the Rebirth tank, Stark had been snapping at his aides about the damage done to his equipment. 

“Mr Stark,” Agent Carter said. “How do you do?”

“Pretty good,” Stark said. “I was hoping you’d be on this deployment. We need at least one good-looking person on our crew.” He glanced at Steve, then away. Steve saw the recognition, and Stark’s dark eyes flicked back to him. “Rogers?” he said. “Steve Rogers? Operation Rebirth, right?”

One side of Steve’s mouth crooked up. “Nice to see that closing someone in a box and shooting them with lasers leaves an impression,” he said dryly. 

“Those were vita rays, kid. Not lasers.” Stark snorted, holding out a hand, which Steve shook out of habit. The other man looked him up and down. “You’ve put on some weight. Almost didn’t recognise you,” he said. He smirked and added, “Especially with your clothes on.”

Steve couldn’t help smiling wryly. “I’m not about to refresh your memory, Mr Stark,” he said. 

Stark chuckled. “God, I hope not,” he said. “In this climate? You’d freeze your balls off.” He hesitated and looked self-consciously at Agent Carter. “Uh. I mean…”

Agent Carter’s eyebrows arched. “If you imagine I have survived in the armed forces and the medical services without being aware that men had testicles, you really are not quite as bright as people give you credit for, Mr Stark,” she said. She drew up the collar of her coat. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I will retreat indoors. It’s likely to get quite brisk.” Her eyes flicked to Steve. “You might wish to take shelter too, Private. We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

Steve drew himself up. “Yes, ma’am.”

Stark gave him a sympathetic look as Agent Carter walked away. “Still sick, huh?”

“Not as bad as I was,” Steve replied. “You know where I can find my bunk in this place?”

Stark clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll give you the tour.” 

“You don’t have stuff to do?” Steve asked, surprised. 

Stark shrugged. “Not right now,” he said. “God knows they won’t let me work on my equipment while we’re in motion. Phillips thinks I’ll blow a hole in the hull or something.” He jerked his head towards the door that led into the ship. “We’ll find your bunk and you can dump your stuff.”

 

______________________________________________

 

The crossing was mercifully smooth. They made good time around the coast of France and avoided the unwanted attentions of the u-boats that had been cluttering up the waterways. 

Peggy always felt uneasy on sea journeys, though she tried her utmost not to show it. It was something of a family concern. One of her uncles had been lost on a vessel in the first war, before she was born, and Harold, a cousin on her mother’s side, had been aboard HMS Audacity, only two years earlier. 

For the most part, she managed to maintain a façade of calm, but she could seldom sleep on such journeys. She remembered too well that a flare had given away the Audacity’s location and more than once, she found herself on the deck during the night.

On the second night, she was standing by the rail, as scarf wrapped around her hair, searching the black waters. It was a cloudy night, but the moonlight was breaking through, reflected on the waves. Their ship was not small, and its dark bulk would easily be visible to any enemies who might be in the area.

Behind her, the door that lead down to the crew’s cabins creaked open. Over the rumble of the engines and the slap of the sea against the hull, it was barely audible, but Peggy was already on edge, and the sound was like nails on a board. 

She straightened up, her gloved hands clenching on the rail. The last thing she wanted was to fend off the attentions of an overeager soldier or crewman.

“Hey.”

The relief that spread through her warmed her, and she turned to find Steve standing only a few paces away. He had barely made a sound crossing the deck, despite wearing the oversized, standard-issue boots.

“Trouble sleeping?” she asked, as if she wasn’t the one haunting the deck.

“I’m right above the engine room,” he said with a small, wry smile. He was wearing his coat, his hands pushed deep into the pockets as if to ward off the chill. “Coupla weeks ago, I probably wouldn’t have noticed.” He glanced out over the waves, in the direction she had been looking. “Something out there?”

Peggy looked back around. She hoped not. “Not that we know of,” she murmured.

She wasn’t surprised when he was suddenly by her side. He withdrew his bare hands from his pockets, folding his arms on the rail again, and propped his chin on them. He looked pale in the moonlight, cast in silver. 

“What about you?” he finally asked. “Trouble sleeping?”

She laid her hands against the rail again, squeezing so hard her palms ached. “Something of the sort,” she murmured, watching the rise and fall of the waves. He wouldn’t condemn her for her fears, she knew, but so many years of ensuring that she always appeared strong and stalwart had become habit. 

His hand covered hers on the rail. Even without gloves, it was far warmer than her own.

She looked down at his hand, then to his face.

One side of his mouth turned up in that quiet smile of his that so few people saw. “It wasn’t just the engine keeping me awake,” he said. “The guys were talking. Figured I’d come and watch out for… I don’t know. Something. Anything.” He lifted one shoulder. “It felt better than lying in the dark and imagining the worst.”

She turned her hand under his, the metal of the rail hard against the back of her palm. His fingers slid between hers slowly, little by little, and he watched them curl, bringing his warm bare palm flush against her gloved one. It felt much more intimate than their kiss on the rooftop. The thought made her shiver and she folded her fingers over his, clasping his hand fast.

“I know,” she said in little more than a whisper. She took an unsteady breath and forced a smile. “Silly really, isn’t it? After all, what could we do, if there was something out there?”

He was looking up at her, blue eyes grave. “Tell them to go to hell,” he said.

He said it so seriously that she couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I’m sure that would drive them off right away,” she said. “There’s nothing as effective as a stern telling off.”

His smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth again, and she could feel the ball of his thumb slowly tracing along the seam of her glove, almost skimming the flesh of her wrist. The rash of gooseflesh across her skin was nothing to do with the cold anymore. 

“Only if we did it in German,” he said.

Her mouth felt uncommonly dry. “Ah. I see a flaw in your clever plan. Do you even speak any German?”

He was looking up at her so intently that she wondered that she hadn’t started blushing. “I can’t think of everything,” he said. “How about…”

“Oh, do shut up, Rogers,” she said, stifling his words with a kiss.


	7. Resisting Vast and Total Ruin

Everyone said Italy was meant to be warm.

It was warmer than London, sure, but no one said it would be raining so hard that the camp was turned into a mud bath. 

Steve held his jacket over his head as he ran for the command tent. He sank ankle-deep in the dirt, grimacing. Parade was bad enough when he was somewhere dry with enough boot polish to keep his boots shined up. 

He pushed the flap of the tent open, ducking in.

“About damned time,” Phillips growled without turning. The Colonel was short-tempered at the best of times, but with the rain hampering any real attempts at recon and infiltration, he was snapping at everyone. “Carter, fill Private Rogers in.”

Agent Carter motioned for him to come over. “We’ve had a few scouts report back on movements in this area,” she said, motioning to the map. “They’re been able to provide some more information about the terrain, but we need it charted before we can send in troops.”

Steve held out his hand for her notepad.

It was a routine now: the messages would come in to be decoded, Agent Carter would do what she did best and that was when Steve was called in to make sense of it all on the maps. 

It came easily to him, visualising exactly what the terrain looked like in three dimensions, based on the maps and descriptions provided. He had never needed to do it back at home, in a world before maps and combat, and sometimes, he wondered if he would have been able to do it before.

Agent Carter’s fingers brushed his as she passed him the notebook and he met her eyes.

Since the ship, they had only seen each other in a professional capacity. If it was hard to have a private moment in a huge building with a deserted rooftop in London, it was impossible in the close quarters of a camp as big as the one they were based in.

Once, they had almost managed to steal a moment, but distant gunfire and a call to arms had put an end to that.

At times like that, even brushing each other’s fingertips was something.

She withdrew her hand, reluctantly, and he looked down at the notebook, reading her neat, copperplate handwriting. She never left out anything, and he trailed his fingertip along each line, murmuring as he went. 

He knew it confused people. He knew he probably looked like a first-grader learning to read. They didn’t need to know that he was committing every word to memory, and all it took was one read-through for him to get every detail. 

“Pencil,” he said, setting aside the notebook and smoothing the map out. 

The pencils were set down beside him and he ran his fingers along the contours of the map, murmuring the details over again. When he reached a point mentioned in the coded message, he took up the pencil without looking up from the map and made his marks.

No one spoke while he worked, filling in the new details in graphite.

It took him nearly twenty minutes, and when he straightened up, he brushed his forelock back from his brow. 

“We’re not going to be able to get through the pass,” he said, looking up at Phillips. “Their troops might be on the far side, but this is a problem.” He tapped points on the map. “This gorge is the only way to reach the pass, and they hold the plateau above it. You can bet they’ll have mounted guns, even if our guys haven’t spotted them.”

“There are rumours they have a Panzer division up there,” Agent Carter murmured. “It wouldn’t take much work for them to bring the cliffs down on any battalion in the gorge. It would be like fish in a barrel.”

The Colonel ground his teeth. “You got any bright ideas, Stark? We need something to take out the big guns at the top.”

Stark rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Can’t send in anything aerial,” he said. “They’d see it coming. What we really need is some of those SOE guys. The ones who can get in anywhere without being spotted.”

“Well, that’s just peachy,” Phillips growled irritably, “since we don’t have any of them with us except Carter and she sure as hell isn’t about to go on a suicide mission to take out a panzer division solo.”

“If it was required,” Agent Carter began.

“Stark’ll find another option,” Phillips snapped. “We didn’t get you transferred over here just to make up the numbers, Carter. You have a job to do and that job doesn’t involve getting yourself killed.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, then lowered his hand. “Stark, you get your ass back to the tent and put together something. Rogers, you’re dismissed.”

Steve glanced at Agent Carter. She shook her head, so he pulled his coat back up over his head and trudged back out into the mud. 

Sometimes, he’d get formally dismissed, but Phillips would let him hang around to work on the maps. Only the Colonel never actually said he could stay. Agent Carter could read Phillips, and if it was okay for him to be there, she would give him the nod.

If she told him to leave, he knew better than to hang around. He’d made the mistake once, and all Phillips’ frustration had turned on him as the failed experiment. The Colonel demanded how he was expected to save the day with a pen-pusher the size of a toothpick, and Steve had felt his face burning with humiliation.

He was halfway back to his tent when he heard someone approaching, and a hand landed on his shoulder. He flinched in surprise, turning his head to find Howard Stark beside him.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Rogers,” Stark said. He had an umbrella raised over both of them. “He’s mad at the world right now. It isn’t you.”

“I know,” Steve said, swiping a hand over his face. His hair was dripping in his eyes already. “You got any ideas how you’re going to do it?”

“That’s why I came to catch you,” Stark replied. “Carter says you’ve done a lot of reading up on strategy. I’ve got the weapons know-how, but I leave the strategising to people who know how to do it. Maybe you can have a look over some of my collection and see what you can come up with.”

Steve stared at him. “You want me to work with weapons?”

Stark shrugged. “Why not? You know the terrain we’re working with and what kind of attacks we’ll expect. Maybe you’ll see something we can use that we didn’t think of.” He sighed. “It would have been a hell of a lot easier if the SOE had given us people, but what can you do?” He laughed wryly. “There’s a war on, don’tcha know.”

“The SOE are like the special forces, right?”

Stark nodded as they turned in the direction of the engineering shed. It was little more than corrugated metal propped over sturdy poles, but it was better than a tent. “The kind of guys who sneak into the middle of enemy camp and kill everyone with a ball of string, a hatpin, and one shoe, if you believe ‘em. Or Carter. She was one of them before she ended up with the SSR.”

Steve glanced back at the tent. He could see the Colonel and Carter talking and it looked heated. It wasn’t a surprise to find out that Agent Carter had an impressive resume, and if he knew her at all, which he hoped he did, he knew she’d be arguing for the chance to go and take out the guns.

He rubbed at the back of his neck pensively. 

Phillips would never let her go, and there was no one else in their division who would be capable of doing what had to be done. He looked back up at Stark. “How about we find something to solve this before they kill each other?”

Stark looked back towards the command tent too, then winced. “Yeah,” he said. “Each other or me. I’m not a huge admirer of the being-dead thing. Not exactly my colour.”

Steve snorted. “Anyone ever tell you you’re full of it, Stark?”

Stark looked at him with a chuckle. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?” he said. 

 

___________________________________________

 

Peggy always did hate sitting in the sidelines.

Colonel Phillips had made it absolutely and adamantly clear that she was not permitted to attempt an incursion into the gorge alone. Night had already fallen, and the rain was getting heavier by the moment.

His subordinates were arguing and planning, and any suggestions she made were considered then put aside. She was standing by the map table as a Captain and Lieutenant were debating the merits of charging in all guns blazing, and biting on her lip to keep from telling them they were both being idiots.

The flap of the tent was pushed open.

“Unless you have a damned good plan, Stark,” Phillips snapped, “you have somewhere else to be.” 

“We’re working on it,” Stark replied. He approached Peggy and held out a folded piece of paper. “Carter, Rogers needs some things. Maps and tools. He said you’d know what I’m looking for.”

Peggy frowned. “Why would he ask you instead of asking himself?” she asked, taking the paper from him.

“He’s going through our inventory,” he said with a shrug. “I figured he might be able to give us another perspective.”

She hid a smile, unfolding the paper. In part, she had hoped that Phillips would make more use of Steve’s knowledge, but so far, he had only been limited to the map boards and cartography. It was a dreadful waste.

To her surprise, the note wasn’t simply about maps and ink. It wasn’t even in plain English.

She moved closer to the nearest lamp, tilting the paper into the light. She recognised the code. She had spent a couple of hours on the ship explaining it to Steve, when neither of them could sleep. It was a simple one, and took no effort at all to translate, and when she did, her heart felt like it skipped a beat.

She folded the note and clenched it tightly in her hand. “Stark,” she said lightly, “where is Private Rogers now?”

“In the engineering shed,” Stark replied, frowning. “Something wrong, Agent Carter?”

“I think we had best get back there at once,” she said.

The ground was treacherously wet, and she even accepted Stark’s offer of his arm, as they hurried back in the direction of the shed. Despite the hour, people were always working in the rickety building. Lamps were swinging from the ceiling, swaying as the wind rattled the walls, but there was no sign of Steve among the other engineers.

Stark looked at her in confusion. “What’s going on, Carter?”

“You might want to check if anything is missing,” she said, tightening her grip on the knot of paper. “I suspect you may be several pulse-grenades short.”

Stark stared at her, then rushed over to one of the shelves. He ran back to her a second later, shaking his head. “You’re right,” he said. “That little bastard stole them. What the hell does he think he’s going to do?”

Peggy could feel her nails biting into the palm of her hand around the note. “Give our troops their opening,” she said.

“How?” Stark demanded. “By climbing up a cliff in the middle of the night in the middle of a rainstorm, then walking into the middle of their camp, and blowing them up?”

Peggy wished she could laugh at the absurdity of it all. “I suspect, Mr Stark,” she said, “that that is exactly what he intends to do.”


	8. Suited to the Needs of War

It was a bad idea.

Steve had realised that the minute he got out of camp.

It was a really, really bad idea, but it wasn’t as if they’d had any better ones.

There were six of Stark’s powerful pulse grenades in a pack on his back. He was absent without leave in enemy territory with a backpack full of some of the most powerful grenades the US army had in their possession. Which he had stolen from the engineering bay.

Yeah.

Bad idea pretty much summed it up.

It was too late to back out now, though, and he ran as fast as he could. The gorge was four miles away from the camp, through forest-thick terrain. Back in the day, he knew he wouldn’t even have been able to walk that, let alone run at full speed in the pouring rain. 

By the time he reached the edge of the gorge, his uniform was spattered with mud, soaked and clinging to him like a second skin. He checked himself over, snatching up handfuls of dirt to smear them on the metal catches of the pack and his buttons. He added smudges to his face, hoping the moon would stay out of sight. 

The wind was cold, but he could hardly feel it. Too terrified and excited, he figured. He had a feeling that if he survived this whole attack plan, he’d probably end up confined to barracks with hypothermia.

The gorge was bigger than it looked on the map, cutting a ragged furrow into the landscape, with mountains creeping up on either side. 

Without moonlight or a flashlight, he knew he shouldn’t have been able to see more than ten feet in front of him. Shouldn’t, but could. The whole world was reduced to monochrome, but he could see the shapes of the rock formations, the places where streams broke down into the river that ran along the west side of the gorge. 

“Thank you, Doctor Erskine,” he whispered under his breath.

He started forward, slipping from shadow to shadow, as lightly as he could. 

It was exhilarating and strangely calming as well, as if he had been waiting for exactly this moment his whole life. For all that he knew, there could be a dozen guns trained down on him, but he’d spent more than twenty years not being noticed. Now, it was a skill he could use.

The gorge was treacherous in the rain, with loose rocks and shale on all sides. The rattle of stone on stone echoed off the canyon walls, so he retreated to the edge of the river. It would be easier to hide the sound of his footsteps in the rush of the water, even if that side of the gorge wasn’t as dark as the other.

His heart felt like it was beating in his mouth when he was close enough to see a glimpse of watery moonlight on metal on the ledge overlooking the gorge. Looked like the rumours about the Panzer division were definitely solid fact. He could make out the shape of the cannon, and if he listened hard, he could hear the faint sound of voices carried on the wind.

At the foot of the cliff, he looked up. It was one thing to imagine it in three dimensions. It was another thing to stand at the bottom and realize that it was a lot steeper and a lot higher than he had guessed. Still, he’d come this far, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t been thinking about climbing anyway.

He rubbed his hands together, then wiped them on the seat of his pants, trying to dry them as much as possible. It wouldn’t help anyone if he got this far, then slipped because his fingers were wet.

The rocks were rough against his palms, but it wasn’t as hard as he expected it to be. Even with the weight of the grenades in the pack on his back, he was able to climb easily, reaching up hand over hand, foot over foot. 

Small nooks and cracks were just big enough for him to grip, crabbing upwards a couple of metres, then sideways, then up a bit further, half hidden by bushes and plants that sprouted out of the cliff face itself. 

It felt like he was stretching every muscle in his body as far as it could go, and it was exhausting, but it was the good kind of exhaustion, the kind that made his heart race and adrenaline pour through him.

By the time he reached the lip of the cliff, the rain had stopped. He was so close he could smell the smoke from cigarettes, and hear every word of the conversations between German soldiers. He inched a little higher, risking a glance over the edge of the cliff. He was almost directly in front of one of the Panzers, and he dragged himself up over the edge of the cliff, rolling under it, out of sight.

He lay there for a few seconds, catching his breath. A glance out between the caterpillars of the tank let him see that there were two more on either side, spread at intervals along the plateau, overlooking the gorge and the German camp that the gorge and the pass protected.

Seemed like good odds. Six grenades. Five tanks.

There wasn’t much room, but it was enough for him to ease one of the grenades out of his pack. The metal was damp and cool to the touch. Stark had warned him there was a fifteen second delay on the grenades, so he slid back to the edge of the cliff and lowered himself down, before flicking the pin and rolling it under the tank.

His hands were gashed to pieces as he clambered along the edge of the cliff, and it felt like the longest and shortest fifteen seconds of his life. He was shielded by a boulder when the tank exploded, flames blooming out like gold and scarlet flowers.

The stillness of the night was broken by yells and screams. Incendiaries inside the tank started exploding too, and Steve clung to the cliff side, grinning. The second tank went up just as easily, and in the chaos of people covered in dirt and choking on smoke, he scrambled up over the edge of the cliff and joined the bucket chain to try and put out the flames.

So what if he ran a little closer to another of the Panzers? So what if that one went up too?

He was halfway to the fourth when a soldier scrambled up in front of him, bleeding from the nose and ears. He was holding a gun and Steve was holding a grenade. The soldier’s gun came up as Steve lobbed the grenade and ran, rolling for cover. He skidded beneath a tangle of barbed wire as the camp erupted in a rain of fire. 

 

_____________________________________________

 

The plateau was burning.

Even from four miles away, it was visible.

Peggy hadn’t outright lied to Colonel Phillips about the cause, when she advised him to have the troops ready and in formation. A new weapon had been unleashed was all she had said, and they were uncertain of its capabilities, but if it was successful, then Phillips and his men would need to be ready to move out and quickly. 

She was under orders to supervise the camp, and she stood at the entrance of the command tent, watching the last of the men depart. 

So far, Steve had been successful. 

She should have been pleased by that, but the dread that was knotting in her chest was the fact that he had scaled the plateau and attacked the camp. If the fire was so vast that it could be seen at such a distance, the likelihood of him returning felt very small indeed.

The rain had stopped at least, and the camp felt eerily quiet in the absence of so many of their men. A handful of soldiers were still in the command tent, but there was nothing for them to occupy themselves, and she had no interest in providing them with diversion. Instead, she walked the length of the parade ground several times, despite the ground being thick with mud and puddles, and observed the changing of the perimeter guards. 

Time felt like it had slowed to a crawl, and every time she looked at her watch, it felt like the hands had scarcely moved.

Close to two hours later, word came in across the radio that the German camp had been taken with minimal casualties. An exhausted cheer went up from those who remained. While she wished she could celebrate with them, Peggy was drained. It had been a long night, and was far from over yet.

She turned command over to the most senior of the remaining soldiers, and withdrew across the camp to her tent.

As the only woman presently in camp, it afforded her some privacy. 

For some inexplicable reason the men also seemed to think she required more space than they did, so instead of a standard issue tent, she had a small, modest square marquee. It looked ridiculous and out of place, but as long as they were willing to give her a little more room - and even a small desk for her decoding work - she was not likely to fuss.

She pushed the canvas aside, and stepped into the quiet darkness, letting the mask slip for a moment. She buried her face in her hands, just for a moment, trying not to imagine the worst, trying to breathe.

“Agent Carter?”

The faint whisper came from the far corner of the tent.

Her heart drummed against her sternum. “Steve?” 

She fumbled for her torch, switching it on, and searched out the source of his voice. She almost overlooked him, a mud-spattered, smoke-stained heap in the corner, until she saw his eyes. They were bloodshot and circled with shadows of fatigue, but they were open and looking at her.

One side of his mouth twisted up. “Hey,” he whispered.

She was across the tent and on her knees by his side in an instant. His uniform was hanging on him in damp tatters, but she could see very little blood. She tilted his face up gently into the light from her torch, wincing at the bruises visible beneath smudges of mud. 

“You’re hurt.”

“You should see the other guys.” He laughed and it turned into a grimace.

“We should get you to the medical tent,” she murmured.

He shook his head slowly. “Sorry,” he said, so softly she could barely hear him. “Too tired.” He lifted his hand to cover hers against his cheek. “I didn’t know if I’d be in trouble. AWOL and stealing weapons.” He slid his hand up to her shoulder and struggled to sit upright. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.” He winced again. “Turn myself in come morning.”

She huffed in frustration. “That’s the last thing I’m worried about, Private,” she snapped. “I thought you were dead!” 

He looked up at her from beneath his lashes. “I’m good, Agent Carter, I swear.”

“Peggy, Steve,” she said with a sigh. “When you’ve kissed a woman, you should at least call her by her name.”

His hand was on her shoulder, and she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, so close to her neck. She could remember a day when his touch was cool, but now, he seemed to run to hot all the time.

“Peggy,” he breathed it like a prayer. His fingers curled around the back of her neck and they both moved forwards at the same moment. It was a clumsy kiss, made urgent and unsteady by emotion, and her hands clutched at his uniform, holding him there.

When she pulled back, her eyes were blessedly dry and she uncurled her fingers from his shirt. “You’re soaked through,” she said. “Didn’t you think to go to your own tent to get some fresh clothes?”

His fingers were light against the back of her neck. “Wanted to apologise,” he murmured. He sounded as if he were about to drop where he was sitting. “For leaving you in the lurch.”

If he was caught in her tent, there would be hell to pay, she knew, but right now, her first priority was checking him for wounds and ensuring that he was warm and dry. The last thing they needed was for him to end up with pneumonia. No matter how effective the serum seemed to be, illness was still a possibility.

She drew back and set her torch on the edge of her desk. “Up with you, Private,” she said, slipping one arm under his shoulder and hauling him to his feet. Three steps got him as far as her flimsy cot, and he sat down heavily. She pulled the blanket up around his shoulders. “Now, stay here and get out of those wet things. I’ll be back with some tea and iodine.”

By the time she returned, he was looking more alert. His uniform was folded in a heap, and the blanket was pulled tight around him. 

She set down the tray she was carrying on the desk and reached up to light the small lantern than hung in the middle of the tent. It illuminated the tent with a warm glow and let her see him more clearly. 

“Here,” she murmured, bending to press a cup of sugared tea into his hands. “I think you may need this.” She fetched the rest of the contents of the tray, knelt down on the matting beside the cot and pushed the blanket down from his shoulders.

“You don’t need to…” he began.

She met his eyes. “I was a nurse before I was a soldier, Steve,” she said. “Let me make sure you’re all right.”

He was still wearing his underpants, but his chest and arms were bare. She could see the worst of the cuts and bruises were all down one side of his body. They were ugly, but thankfully not too severe. 

In silence, she set to work cleaning them as Steve sipped his tea.

She couldn’t help but notice that he had a little more meat on his bones since the last time she had seen him undressed. His arms, though, really caught her notice. She frowned, touching his bicep lightly.

“You seem to have built up some muscle,” she observed.

He nodded, curling his hand and making the muscle tighten beneath her hand. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Didn’t even notice.”

Peggy slid her hand down over his forearm to his hand, gesturing for him to open it. His palm was scraped raw, but the wounds were already scabbed over. She stared at his hand, then laid her palm against his.

He was exhausted, but not so exhausted that he didn’t realised what had caught her attention.

“Huh,” he said.

His palm was broader than hers, and his fingers a little longer. That wasn’t the way it had been only days earlier. He shifted his hand under hers, curling his fingers around hers. Her hand suddenly looked smaller, more delicate in his.

She looked up at him, startled. “You’re getting bigger,” she said. She scrambled to her feet, catching him by the elbows. “Quick. Stand up. See if it’s just your hands and arms.”

He set down the tea and rose, only a little unsteady.

They stared at each other, eye to eye for the first time. 

“Jesus,” Steve breathed. “Jesus Christ.”


	9. A Sanguinary Birth

Colonel Phillips wasn’t happy, and Steve wasn’t surprised.

They had to come clean about the serum. It wasn’t just because Steve had taken out a panzer division with a backpack full of grenades. That was a big part of it, but the other part was the fact that none of his uniforms fitted anymore and people were going to notice. 

He knew he looked like a fat-head, sitting in the command tent with a blanket around his shoulders. He had his back-up uniform on, but in six hours, he’d put on enough muscle across his shoulders and arms that he couldn’t even fasten it anymore. Even his vest was pulled tight over his chest. His pants were riding up his ankles too.

Agent Carter - Peggy - was standing beside his chair. 

The only reason he wasn’t standing too was because his legs were still shaking. 

Before, he’d thought it was because of the climb and the rush of actually being in a war zone, with grenades and gunfire and smoke. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Could have been the climb or it could have been the serum, stretching him out and bulking him up. 

Colonel Phillips turned on them finally. 

“We could have you up on a charge, son,” he said. 

Steve winced. It was what he’d expected. “Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir, he says,” Phillips echoed with a derisive snort. “Grows half a head, takes out a panzer unit, hands us the camp that’s been bothering us for months, and all he can say is ‘yes, sir’.” He sat down on the opposite side of the desk from Steve. “You, Rogers, are a pain in my ass.”

“I just wanted to be useful, sir,” Steve bit out.

Phillips leaned back in his chair, looking across the desk at him. “You got enhanced by an army-funded programme. You didn’t tell anyone when it started working. You disobeyed direct orders. You went on a goddamn suicide mission and could have compromised the whole camp. That sure as hell ain’t what I call useful, son.”

Steve looked down at his hands, which were clenched into fists in his lap. “Am I being discharged, sir?”

“The hell you are,” Phillips replied shortly. “We’re going to get Erskine back to London. You’re gonna be there, and he’s gonna figure out what the hell we can do with you, because god knows I can’t have a soldier changing size and busting out of his uniform on me any time he sees combat.” He looked Steve up and down. “You’re not what we asked for, and you’re sure as hell not what we wanted. Maybe he can figure out what he did wrong and fix it.”

“Sir,” Agent Carter said quietly, “Private Rogers could be of much more use in the field.”

The look that Phillips gave her could have melted ice. “Agent Carter, when Private Rogers isn’t wearing a blanket from your tent, we will discuss this again, d’you hear me?”

Steve felt heat rising in his face. He knew why he’d stumbled straight to Peggy’s tent when he got back: relief and shock and needing someone who knew him to see him. “Sir, Agent Carter found me in the dirt,” he said. “She let me borrow her blanket until I could get to my own tent.”

Phillips scowled at him. “You’re not helping your case, Private.” He rubbed at his eyelids with a leathery forefinger and thumb. “We’re done here. Stark’s agreed to fly you back to London if the weather holds.” He waved them away. “Get out of my sight, the pair of you.”

Peggy slipped one hand under Steve’s arm to help him up. 

He’d only grown a few inches, but it was enough for him stand level with her, and that felt strange enough. 

“Come on,” she murmured. “We should get you back to your tent before the rest of the camp wakes.”

Like her, he had a small tent to himself, with a small desk made from a polished plank of wood balanced on top of his boxes of cartography supplies. His cot was just as rickety as hers, and creaked when he sat down on it.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t think he would send you out of the field.”

Steve looked at his hands, rubbing his fingers against his palm. “I know.”

She dragged the small stool over, to sit in front of him, and took both his hands between hers. Her skin was smooth and cooler than his own. He watched the way her fingertips brushed over his knuckles, down his bare wrist, and back. It was so light, ghosting over fine fair hairs, yet his nerve-endings felt like they were blazing.

“Peggy…” 

“You don’t deserve to be sent away,” she said, her voice soft but vehement. “Not after what you did.”

“I’m lucky he’s not locking me up,” Steve admitted.

She nodded in agreement, squeezing his hands, fingertips stroking lightly back and forth between his knuckles. It made a pleasant shiver run down his spine

He shifted his hands to catch hers and lifted them to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of her palms. He’d seen it in a movie, and it looked dashing, but even as he did it, he felt like an ass. She didn’t seem to think so, opening her hand to curl against his cheek, her fingertips brushing his ear.

“They might let me come back,” he said, but he knew he didn’t sound convinced.

“They will,” she said with certainty. “Erskine won’t let them lock you up in a lab for the rest of the war.” She tilted his head up with a gentle press of her palm, making him look up at her. “You were made for more than that.”

He met her eyes and inclined his cheek into her hand. “You mean it?”

She leaned forward, close and intimate. “Every word,” she whispered.

 

_________________________________________

 

The command tent was quiet.

With the German camp secure and no need to prepare for an invasion, Phillips had given leave for everyone to have one night of freedom. He was the only person still sitting in there, going over reports and putting signatures to condolence letters.

He didn’t even look up when Peggy entered.

“If you’re here to give me a lecture, Agent Carter,” he said, his pen scratching on another letter, “you’d be better taking it to someone who gives a damn.”

“Sir, sending Rogers away is a mistake.”

Phillips’ pen went still for a moment, then resumed moving. “If you’re here to tell me why I should keep your little flame around, let me tell you Carter that there are a hell of a lot more reasons why I shouldn’t.”

She set her jaw and soldiered on. “He’s a useful asset.”

Phillips laid his pen down with ominous deliberation. “Is that how you see this, Carter? Because what I see is a little boy playing with the big boys toys, and almost getting himself killed. What I see is a soldier who disobeyed a direct order. What I see is a science experiment that’s doing god knows what.”

“He avoided capture, scaled the enemy defences, and took out a panzer division, sir,” Peggy said, her jaw clenched. “Surely that’s worth something.”

He looked at her, and folded his hands over one another in front of him. “It is,” he agreed, “but until we know that boy isn’t going to grow another two feet or get some goddamned super powers in the middle of a damned mission, we can’t risk him in open combat. Hell, next time he goes through a change, he might end up on his knees, and how in the hell would that be any use to anyone, if he got himself killed?”

Peggy could see his point. She really wished it wasn’t the case, but it was true. Given how erratic Steve’s behaviour had been on discovering his vision had repaired itself, he could hardly be expected to be on best behaviour when his body finally functioned without any of the problems that had troubled him in the past.

She released a breath she had been holding.

“Very well.”

Phillips picked up his pen again and went back to writing, but before she could retreat from the tent, he spoke again. “Agent Carter.”

She braced herself in anticipation of a dressing down. After all, she’d kept intelligence from him and all but allowed an untested young private out in the field. “Sir?”

“It might interest you to know he took out four of the five tanks with direct hits,” he said without looking up. “Got a grenade under each one from the looks of it. Damn near obliterated the whole camp. Believe me when I say I’m not happy to lose someone with aim like that.”

“Four of the five?” she echoed in disbelief.

When he said he’d tossed grenades into the camp, she’d assumed it was more luck than ability. Goodness only knew his experience with weapons was minimal, with guns kicking back too hard on his fragile form, and his arms lacking the strength to throw.

Phillips nodded. “We had a couple of men go up to check for prisoners. “Last one must have made a break for it, before he got to it.” He shuffled through his papers, drawing out another report. “This is going to take a hell of a lot of explaining to the higher ups.”

She pressed her nails against her palm. “Sir, if he’s stable, if the changes don’t continue…”

“If that happens,” Phillips interrupted, “we’ll consider things. Right now, he’s going back to Erskine, and he can be grateful for that. That’s the last I want to hear of this. Am I understood, Agent Carter?”

She straightened up. “Yes, sir.”


	10. A Fair Experiment

Steve got back to London the day after Erskine returned from the US, and the doctor was waiting at the door to greet him when he arrived. Even though he was trying not to show it, Erskine looked ecstatic, his eyes running over Steve’s body from head to toe.

“Steven,” he said warmly, striding forward and grasping Steve’s hand, shaking it vigorously. “You are looking very well. Yes, very well indeed.”

One side of Steve’s mouth curled up. “We know who to thank for that,” he said.

Erskine’s expression tensed and he looked around. “This is not a conversation to be having outside of doors,” he said, quickly ushering Steve into the building. 

Instead of heading back to the map room, Steve was led along a maze of corridors to the medical department. The medical facilities in the SSR building weren’t great, but it was all they could get. The room was tiled and polished, gleaming white. Steve looked around uncomfortably. It reminded him too much of the hospitals he’d seen when he was a kid. There was a bed and a table, and oh god, more needles. 

As soon as they entered, a team of staff looked around attentively.

“Please, excuse us for a moment,” Erskine said, shooing them towards the door. “I would like to do the preliminary examination of the subject without interference.” He harried them all out, blustering over their confusion, and finally closed the door behind them. “Good,” he said, turning back to Steve with a smile. “Now, we can talk, yes?”

Steve couldn’t help smiling. “Preliminary examination, huh?”

“Oh, we will do this too,” Erskine said cheerfully, “but you will tell me everything you did not tell anyone else.” He motioned to the treatment table. “You should sit. I must take blood and do tests and paperwork.” He wrinkled his nose. “All very boring, but we must do things properly.”

Steve hoisted himself up onto the table, shedding his jacket. “I know I should have told you sooner,” he said, “but we didn’t know if it was just fixing the problems I had or what.”

“All very understandable,” Erskine said with that small smile Steve remembered. “Now, roll your sleeves. I need to take blood first, before we can start filling in all the blanks.”

Steve watched in silence as the doctor applied the tourniquet, then quickly and easily filled four vials with dark red blood. It flowed much more easily than it had in the past, and Steve wondered if that was the serum helping things or just the rapid pounding of his heart.

When the vials were slid into a small rack, Erskine motioned for him to get up. “Remove your shirt, and tell me what changes you noticed first.”

Steve nodded, unbuttoning the cuffs and sliding the shirt off his shoulders. He was wearing a vest underneath it, but even that didn’t do much to hide the change in his body. He wasn’t exactly big, but he definitely wasn’t as small as he had been. His shoulders had widened, and his arms had thickened. Even his chest seemed broader, and when he drew a deep breath, he felt his ribs expand to accommodate it.

He explained about the little things he only noticed in retrospect: changes in his vision, the lack of tightness in his chest, less pains in his back, even the gradual return of the hearing in his left ear. It had, he speculated, been building up over weeks, and then something had given it the final push, throwing him into a world of colour and a state where he could run and climb like any other guy his age.

Erskine moved around him as he talked, taking measurements of his chest, his height, his arm span. He only offered guiding questions from time to time, letting Steve talk, as he examined his eyes and ears, then put his stethoscope to Steve’s chest and listened intently.

“And what do you think is giving it ‘the push’?” he inquired, motioning for Steve to sit back down. 

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, then felt his cheeks redden, when he realised how much of a lie that was. “Um… I guess maybe when I was… kinda excited, when my heart was going faster. Things happened after that.”

Erskine’s eyebrows rose, and Steve could swear the man was trying not to giggle. “Kinda excited?” he echoed, mimicking Steve’s tone. He leaned closer, mischievously. “You are blushing, Steven. Was there a lady present?”

If anything, that made Steve blush even more, and Erskine chuckled.

“Oh, I see,” he said knowingly.

“It’s not like that!” Steve exclaimed, flustered. “We were just dancing!”

Erskine’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “Sometimes,” he acknowledged, “dancing is the best thing you can do.” He folded up the stethoscope, replacing it on the tray next to the other medical tools. “You only danced once? Or you have seen this lady again?”

Steve ducked his head. “We’ve seen each other,” he admitted, “but I didn’t grow or anything when I was around her.”

“No, indeed,” the doctor said, pulling up the stool and sitting down to check Steve’s reflexes. “I heard about the camp, the tanks.” He tapped Steve’s knee with a small hammer and had to lean back sharply to avoid the jerk of Steve’s foot. “You impressed Colonel Phillips. This is no easy task.”

Steve looked up in surprise. “He didn’t say anything.”

Erskine’s eyebrows rose. “You have met Colonel Phillips,” he reminded him. “Do you think he is the kind of man who gives compliments?”

Steve couldn’t help smiling wryly. “Well, he didn’t arrest me. That’s something, right?”

“For him, this is saying ‘I like you very much’,” Erskine agreed, smiling. He tapped Steve’s other knee with the small hammer, then sat back. “How do you find moving now? You can run, and climb, this I know, but I must know everything. I must know if anything is not right.”

Steve looked down at his hands, resting in his lap, then back up at Erskine. “If I knew what I was meant to be like, without all the problems, I could tell you,” he said apologetically. “All I know is that right now, I feel better than I have in my life. It feels like there’s nothing I can’t do.”

Erskine waved away his words. “This is not what I mean,” he said. “You can eat well? And drink? And all your functions, they are normal?”

Steve frowned. “I hadn’t thought about it,” he said. “I guess I’m eating more?” It went without saying that it was because he was with the army. If he’d been living at home, scraping together enough money to eat, he wouldn’t have had half so much. “If I hadn’t noticed, that means it’s got to be regular, huh?”

Erskine nodded. “But to be safe, you should keep a diary now,” he said. “In case of anomalies, so we can be sure you are well.”

“Not like I have much else to do around here now,” Steve admitted. He sighed. “I thought I was going to be useful out there, and as soon as I am, they ship me back.”

Erskine rose and patted him companionably on the shoulder. “Once we know you are stable, we will have you back fighting for freedom as soon as we can,” he promised, “but now, you will have plenty to do. We need to understand what causes the change, so we will test you.”

Steve eyed him warily. “What kind of tests?”

Erskine smiled. “You failed basic training the first time. Now, we will see how well you can do.”

 

___________________________________________

 

 

Peggy was surprised when she received a letter from London.

It wasn’t that her parents were negligent, but they seldom felt the need to make a fuss, so she knew better than to expect any letters from them. Instead, there was a small, neat white envelope - unsealed as usual - and a brief, hand-written letter signed SGR.

Colonel Phillips was the one to hand it to her, his eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline, and she had been so surprised to receive any kind of correspondence that she hadn’t had the gumption to blush, not even when she opened it and saw the initials. 

It was only a short missive, a page and a half long. With careful word choice, Steve had somehow managed to get a letter through to her without a single word being redacted. It was only when she got back to her tent that she was able to sit down and decipher the code that he had used to reveal his hidden message.

She smiled as she read through his words - both secret and in plain sight.

They were, he informed her, trying everything to see if they could trigger another burst of serum-based enhancements. He was back in basic training and they were getting frustrated that nothing was working. Five laps of the 6 mile training circuit - only five! Running-buddy’s fault, not mine! - only confirmed he was in a much better state of health. 

In the body of the main letter, he also expressed his frustration, and that he hoped he would be back where he was needed sooner rather than later. If he and Erskine had their way, she had no doubts he would be.

She was sitting at her desk, trying to formulate a suitable reply when someone rapped on the post of her tent. It was as close to civilised manners as one could expect in a camp, and she looked up.

“Yes?”

Colonel Phillips was standing there, and she rose to attention, startled. “At ease, Agent Carter,” he said.

“Am I needed, sir?”

He studied her, then motioned for her to follow him. She snatched up Steve’s letter, folding it and tucking it inside her coat, then stepped out of the tent. It was dry, but the ground was still soft and sodden from so many days of rainfall.

“Walk with me, Agent,” Phillips said. “We need to have a little talk.”

For days, she had been waiting for the hammer to fall, and her heart sank, as she fell into step alongside him.

To her surprise, he didn’t speak immediately. 

Instead, he led her through the camp and away from the mess of soldiers and tents. He didn’t say a word until they reached a clearing close to the edge of the gorge. They were far away from any prying ears, and he stepped ahead of her, looking further into the valley.

“Erskine sent a letter too,” he said. “Your pet project isn’t getting any bigger. I guess he mentioned that to you?”

“My colleague did, sir.” Peggy saw no reason to deny it, though she bristled at his description. “Private Rogers indicated that his refresher training went well.”

Phillips made a curt sound. “Erskine says they’re pushing him as far as they can, but looks like he might be back here sooner than expected.” He turned to look at her. “If you’re carrying a flame for that boy, it’s off-limits until this is over. You’re more useful than he is, and we don’t need any accidents happening.”

Peggy’s face flushed with mortification and anger. “Sir, if you imagine I lack self-control,” she said through clenched teeth, “I think you’ll find you are sorely mistaken. Regardless, my friendship with Private Rogers is none of your concern.”

His eyebrows rose. “I’m surrounded by soldiers, Agent Carter. Self-control isn’t exactly their strong suit.”

She smiled tightly, her lips aching. “You’ll find, Colonel,” she said, her voice clipped, “that I am not like any of your soldiers.”

“I hope so,” he said shortly, “because where we’re going, I’m going to need your full attention.”

That brought her up short.

“Sir?”

He looked grimmer than usual. “We’ve got confirmation of the location of one of Schmidt’s plants,” he said. “There are rumours it’s a weapons factory, where he’s hoarding his new technology.”

His expression said it wasn’t that simple.

“Has something happened?” she asked cautiously.

“We lost the 107th,” he replied tersely. 

The 107th.

The number was familiar.

Steve had mentioned a friend in that brigade, she recalled. 

“Lost?” she echoed.

He nodded, breathing out hard through his nose. “They were sent to the area. Thought it was just a Nazi base. Schmidt sent out his soldiers armed with his new weapons. They didn’t stand a chance, and any survivors were taken back for god knows what.”

Peggy looked away, bile burning her throat. “And we are to go there? To infiltrate?”

Phillips shook his head. “To hold the line,” he said. “Schmidt is getting too close to the borders. If we can get any of his soldiers and any of the technology for Stark to try out, we do it, but we’re the last line of defence they have in the area.” He met her eyes and he looked drawn. “Now, d’you see why I’m a mite concerned, Carter?”

Her mouth was dry and she nodded. “Yes, sir.”


	11. Mountain on Mountain

Weeks of tests were inconclusive.

Nothing else seemed to be changing, for better or worse. Erskine reluctantly admitted that Steve had probably reached optimum capacity. It wasn’t a bad thing. His stamina was better than most regular soldiers, he was faster, and even if he wasn’t physically as powerful, he had the advantage of being stealthy and quiet on his feet. 

What it did mean, though, was that they were willing to let him go back to the frontline, to be useful where the SSR needed him. 

When he was told, he’d asked where he was going, and got stony looks in response. It wasn’t a big surprise. The letter he’d got from Peggy, a couple of weeks earlier, had been blacked out in so many places that he couldn’t make any sense of it. He could see the shape of a coded message in it too, but without the full letter, it was meaningless.

They gave him twelve hours notice when he was due to be dispatched, and he headed straight down to the labs where Erskine was working.

The doctor smiled. “You are ready to fight now?”

Steve sat down on one of the high stools. “I’ve been ready for months,” he admitted. “I’m just glad they don’t think I’m going to break at the first breath of wind.”

Erskine chuckled. “Not anymore,” he agreed. “You have packed?”

Steve snorted. “I’ve had it ready to go for days,” he admitted. “What about you? Are you shipping out too?”

Erskine’s expression tightened up for a moment. “I have too many enemies in those places,” he said, looking down at the microscope in front of him. “No. No, I will stay here and work on the serum. Maybe we can find the key, and help more people become stronger.”

Steve nodded. He remembered what Erskine had said about his home country, and about Johann Schmidt, the man who had taken the serum. He couldn’t blame the doctor for wanting to remain somewhere safer. 

“I’ve got twelve hours,” he said, swinging his legs idly. “And you still owe me some schnapps.” 

Erskine looked sidelong at him. “So your memory is still working, hmm?”

Steve grinned at him. “You can’t take credit for that one,” he said. “So how about it? Can you play hookie from the lab for a couple of hours?”

The doctor was silent, thoughtful, for a moment. “Well,” he finally said, “I cannot recreate the serum in this moment.” He reached over and patted Steve firmly on the shoulder. “I will give you your drink, and we will be even.”

“There are a few bars near here,” Steve suggested.

Erskine hesitated, then shook his head. “I do not think that is the wisest idea,” he said. “I would not want to cause problems.” He shed his laboratory coat. “I have a bottle in my room. Do you know of somewhere quiet here?”

“Sure,” Steve said. “The roof is pretty nice in the evenings. I could take a couple of chairs up.”

Erskine smiled. “Then we will meet up there in half an hour,” he said. “You bring chairs and I will bring glasses, and we will toast to your mission.”

By the time Erskine emerged on the roof, Steve was sitting by the balustrade on the west side of the building, his arms folded on the rail, watching the sky changing colour. He’d seen dozens of sunrises and sunsets since his vision had improved, but not a one of them was ever the same.

“It is beautiful,” Erskine murmured, coming up behind him. 

“Yeah,” Steve replied just as softly. 

He heard Erskine sit down, but didn’t turn to him immediately as the man poured for each of them into a pair of mismatched glasses. He sat back when Erskine set down the bottle, and accepted his glass. 

“To the not-so-little guy?” he suggested with a little mischief.

Erskine’s face broke into a smile. “To the slightly larger guy,” he agreed, tapping his glass to Steve’s.

They drank in companionable silence, watching the sun changing the colours of the clouds for a while. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve watched Erskine. The doctor looked at ease in a way he hadn’t in the lab, as if a weight had dropped from his shoulders. 

“Doc,” Steve finally said, “what do you think caused the changes? I mean, I know we didn’t make anything happen with the training, but do you know why?”

Erskine sighed. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “We did not know why it did not work to begin with. Then it works, and there must be triggers, but…” He shook his head. “Body chemistry cannot be predicted. Perhaps it is adrenaline. Perhaps it is endorphins. Perhaps it is both or neither.” He lifted his shoulders. “Perhaps it is just time and a coincidence that it happens when you are in danger or happy.”

Steve looked into his glass. “Bodies take time to adapt, I guess,” he said. “Maybe it’s just taking its time.”

“Not for the growth with the climbing,” Erskine disputed. He reached for the bottle, refilling their glasses. “I do not know what to tell you, Steven. This… we try and make it an exact science, but it does not always do what we expect.”

Steve snorted quietly. “You got that right,” he said with a crooked smile. “Here’s hoping that we don’t get anymore surprises. I mean, I was meant to be a super-soldier, right? I can already outrun pretty much every guy here, and I’m getting stronger. That’s super-ish, isn’t it?”

Erskine smiled. “I think it is more than enough,” he said. He looked at the bottle and the inch of schnapps that was left, then shrugged and divided it between them. “I am glad,” he said, as he set the empty bottle down, “that it worked.”

“Your life’s work,” Steve agreed. “I’m glad it worked too.”

“No,” Erskine said, shaking his head. “I’m glad it worked for you. Now, you are stronger and you are smiling. Even if the serum only helped you to become healthy, then I am glad. You deserve this, for your courage, Steven.”

Steve ducked his head. “It’s not a big deal, doc,” he said. “I just wanted to do my part.”

“Abraham,” Erskine said. “You must call me Abraham. We are friends, are we not?”

Steve nodded with a smile. “Sure,” he said, and knocked his glass against Erskine’s with a firm clink. “Abraham.”

 

________________________________________

 

 

It was chilly when the wind came from the north.

Peggy considered herself fortunate to have acquired a heavy leather coat with a furred collar to ward off the worst of it, as she looked out from the command tent. Her gloved hands were champing together for warmth and she squinted at the sky, trying to spot the incoming plane.

They were awaiting delivery of a new shipment of supplies, but she had it on good authority that Steve would be returning with it.

She was worried.

Weeks earlier, she had sent a letter to let him know about the loss of the 107th. She didn’t know what she had expected, but he hadn’t replied to the letter, and that concerned her. He had been so eager to see his friend, but the lack of response either meant he did not understand her meaning or that the letter had never reached him.

He didn’t seem the type to sit and wait for news, and knowing him as she did, she half-suspected he would have found his way back to go after the lost soldiers.

Perhaps, if he didn’t get the message, it was better. 

Since she’d written, some of the details in the letter had been proven inaccurate. Survivors, half-starved and wounded, had struggled back from enemy lines, many of them left for dead by Schmidt’s men. The last of them were still being gathered up from their hiding place, and ambulance trucks had been shuttling in and out of the camp all day. 

“Carter,” Phillips said abruptly. 

She turned to face him. He was seated at his desk, a pile of letters in front of him, stacked high for his mark. Every one of them said the same thing. With the survivors came the names of those who were definitely dead. His fingertips were stained from signing over and over with a pen with a cracked nib.

“Sir?”

“Stark was talking some bullshit about prototype weapons,” he said. “If that boy of yours is coming back, he’s probably best for covert work. He’ll need something non-regulation. See what Stark can come up with.”

She nodded curtly and strode out into the camp.

War was never a place of merriment and cheer, but a pall had fallen over the men when they saw the survivors being brought in. Some were already half-dead, and as they were carried in, some of the other soldiers were crossing themselves and whispering prayers.

There weren’t so many people out of their tents. Too many ambulances coming and going, so they stayed inside, just waiting for orders. No doubt some of them were playing dice or cards. Anything to distract from the screams coming from the medical tent.

Stark looked as harried as everyone else, but his expression brightened when she entered the engineering shed. “Agent Carter! God, just seeing you has improved my day, let me tell you.”

“Colonel Phillips sent me,” she said. “Private Rogers is expected to return with the next inbound flight, and the Colonel believes he will require some manner of non-regulation weapon.”

“Not exactly big enough for standard rifle, is he?” Stark agreed.

“I find, Mr Stark,” she retorted pleasantly, “that one’s size is no encumbrance to one’s efficiency, if one puts one’s mind to it.” 

Stark’s eyebrows rose, and one side of his mouth turned up. “Well, well, isn’t Rogers a dark little horse,” he said. “Agent Carter, I didn’t know someone had thawed that icy façade of yours.”

She met his eyes, her expression inscrutable. “Do you just like the sound of your own voice, Mr Stark? Because otherwise, I would recommend that you stop wasting your breath with meaningless speculation.”

He winked, grinning. “Say no more,” he said. “So, what do you have in mind for the little guy?”

“The Colonel mentioned covert operations,” she said. “Show me what you have available.”

She was still there, going through Stark’s inventory and testing out the balance of weapons for weight and balance, when Colonel Phillips entered the tent, close to an hour later. He wasn’t alone, and Peggy’s heart felt like it skipped a beat when she saw Steve just behind him.

It didn’t help matters that he met her eyes and offered her a glimpse of that sweet, shy smile that was reserved for only her. 

“Agent Carter, Private Rogers is in need of weapons,” he said. “What have you got for him?”

She glanced down at the object she was holding. Of all the things that she happened to have to hand, a round metal shield seemed about as useful as a pogo stick at a joust. Stark had been lauding the qualities of the metal only moments earlier. 

“We have a few options,” she said, setting the shield down.

Steve was suddenly on the opposite side of the workbench, staring at the shield. “What about this?” he said. “I mean, I’m going to need something to cover me, right?”

“Sure,” Phillips snorted, “and a tin plate’ll be good for that.”

“A tin plate?” Stark echoed. He sounded like he was about to have a fit. “Colonel, that shield is made from the vibranium we found! It’s the rarest metal on earth! You can’t just call it a tin plate!”

Peggy didn’t bother listening to Phillips’ response. Her eyes went to Steve instead, watching him. He was touching the shield lightly with his fingertips, and picked it up, flipping it over in his hands. 

“What does it do?” he asked.

“It’s real shiny to dazzle your enemies,” Phillips replied abruptly.

Peggy glanced at him, then picked up a pistol. “This,” she replied, and fired directly at Steve. To his credit, he only ducked down behind the shield, his eyes visible over the rim of the metal. The bullet dropped, crumpled, to the ground.

Phillips looked at it. “Okay,” he said. “It does that.”

Steve lowered the shield, an awed look on his face. “Stark, can I use this?”

Stark shrugged. “It’s not like anyone else wants to,” he said. “How about we find you some kit you can carry?”

It was close to half an hour later when they finally left Stark’s tent. Steve’s uniform was supplemented with lighter handguns, as well as the shield, which he had strapped onto his back with a belt through the handles. 

Peggy broke off from the Colonel and motioned for Steve to accompany her. “Your tent is still with us,” she said, keeping her tone as nonchalant as she could. “We had it set it up when we were told you would be coming back.”

“As long as I’m not just back to do maps,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Or laps. I’ve done more laps in the last month than anyone ever should.”

“No changes?” she said, glancing at him.

He shook his head. “Nothing we noticed,” he looked at the ground as they walked. “I got your letter.”

Her heart beat faster, nervously, and she hesitated before she spoke. “You did?” She put out an arm to stop him, as an ambulance rumbled past them. “I thought it might have been lost.”

Blue eyes glanced up at her. “I know there was a message in it,” he said, “but they’d redacted parts, and it didn’t make any sense. I mean, I know it’s probably nothing important now…”

She caught his hand, cutting him off in his surprise. “The 107th,” she said, urgently. “It was about the 107th.”

The way his face lit up was enough to break her heart. “They’re here?”

She had to swallow around a lump in her throat and shook her head. “No,” she said, and her voice sounded a treacherous, thin whisper. “Steve, they were wiped out.” He stared at her as if he couldn’t understand what she was saying. “Schmidt sent out troops against them. We’ve only just found the remnants of the survivors.”

He was ashen, all the colour sapped from his face. “Bucky?” he whispered. “Sergeant James Barnes?”

She couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s not among the men we found. The others were killed or captured. We don’t know how many were taken alive, or even if they still are.” She raised her eyes to his face. He was staring at a point beyond her, breathing hard, his hands clenching by his sides. “Steve…”

“Where?” he said, his voice a rasp.

“What?”

“You said they were taken alive,” he said, his eyes flicking back to hers. “Where did they take them?”


	12. To Blow Unbounded

The blood was rushing in Steve’s ears.

As soon as Peggy told him about the 107th, Steve had rushed back to the command tent. He could tell from the look on the Colonel’s face that he knew why they were. He could also tell from the look on the Colonel’s face that the fact he was there wasn’t going to change a damned thing about it.

There was a map on the board, and he could see the flags that marked the bases clearly enough. Thirty miles behind enemy lines, Phillips said, tapping a finger to the map. Heavily-fortified territory. Too dangerous to attempt a rescue, even if there was anyone left alive to save. Holding the line and keeping Schmidt where he was had to be the priority.

He was still speaking and Steve wasn’t listening anymore.

His hands were balled in tight fists by his side.

Schmidt’s base was out there.

Schmidt, who had taken Erskine prisoner and terrorised him.

Schmidt, who had sent a battalion out with weapons beyond anything they had and taken out a whole battalion.

Schmidt, whose men had killed or captured Bucky and maybe still had him locked up in that base in the mountains, thirty miles behind enemy lines, in heavily fortified territory.

Phillips was watching him.

“You listening to me, son?”

Steve straightened up to attention, breathing hard. “Sir, with your permission…”

Phillips cut him off. “You think I’m gonna give you permission to go running off on some hare-brained rescue mission, just because you got lucky the last time you disobeyed orders?” He shook his head curtly. “Not this time.”

“But sir…”

Phillips brought his hand down hard on the table. “Rogers, if you’re a soldier in this army, you better damned well start acting like one,” he snapped. “I told you I am not ordering any incursions into that territory. We lost enough men already. I am not sending a battalion in there to get themselves blown to pieces just in case some of them are still alive. You understand me?” 

Steve’s nails were biting into his palms. “Yes, sir,” he grit out through clenched teeth. He turned and strode out of the tent. The air was cool and he blew out a tight breath between his teeth, as he stalked back towards his tent. There were spare maps stored there, which would give him an idea of the terrain he would be dealing with.

“Steve.” Peggy caught up with him a moment later.

He didn’t turn or look at her.

“I’m going to my tent,” he said shortly, “to sit on my ass and be useless.”

He could feel her eyes on him. “Really?”

He stopped short, looking at her. “And if I’m not?”

“Then I think you’re going to need an awful lot more than a shield and a pair of handguns,” she said. “This isn’t Italy. You can’t just run all the way there.”

He looked towards the convoy of parked jeeps. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Her hand wrapped around his left arm, just above the elbow. It was almost hard enough to be painful, and that kept him from pulling away. His eyes flicked from her hand to her face. They were close, eye to eye once more. Equals on equal terms. 

“Ten minutes,” she said quietly. “If you intend to do something stupid, meet me by the engineering block in ten minutes. Fetch whatever you’ll need. Don’t draw any more attention to yourself than you need to.”

Steve stared at her. “Peggy, you’ll be in trouble if you…”

“Ten minutes, private,” she said, then released him and strode away.

He watched her go, hesitating. 

It was one thing to go and do something necessary and stupid on his own, but if he let her help him, she would get into trouble, and her career would end up on the line. 

And if he didn’t let her, he was as bad as all the jackasses who told her she didn’t have the right to be there in the first place. It was her choice, just like every other thing she chose to do, and he didn’t have the right to tell her no.

He turned sharply and hurried in the direction of his tent. He only had ten minutes, after all. 

 

________________________________________

 

Stark took little persuasion. 

In fact, he was grinning like a wildcat as she and Steve hurried into the small plane.

“I was wondering how long it would take you guys to do something,” he said, slamming and locking down the door behind them. 

“We don’t have time for chatter, Mr Stark,” Peggy said. “I suspect the Colonel will anticipate something of the kind, so if you can get us in the air and on our way as soon as possible, it would be appreciate.”

Stark touched a finger to his temple. “Yes, ma’am.”

Steve had slammed himself down on a bench, and was checking his weapons. He had at least three handguns strapped about his person, a canvas satchel slung over one shoulder, and the round shield resting on his back. 

He didn’t look at her until the plane was in the air, as he slipped the last gun back into the gunbelt he’d wrapped around his waist. 

“You and Stark are going to get in a lot of trouble over this.”

She spread the map out on her lap. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she said, “especially not when you’re concerned.”

Blue eyes met hers. “You don’t have to take the risk for me.”

She gave him a flat look. “Really, Rogers, do you always feel so self-important?” she said with a sniff. “I’m simply taking advantage of your capabilities. If there’s the possibility those men can be saved, this is the right thing to do.”

He opened his satchel, taking out a handful of grenades and checked each one. His eyes were down again. “You think I can.”

“I know you single-handedly levelled a camp that none of our men had been able to approach with nothing more than a handful of grenades, and came back with barely any injuries,” she replied. “If you can do that off-the-cuff, how much more will you be able to do with several minutes of forward planning?”

He raised his face to her and his smile was warm and bright and fierce. “So how long do I have?”

She moved forward on the seat to let him see the map. “The base is here,” she said, placing her fingertip against it. “We hope to be able to drop you right on the doorstep. The boundaries extend as far as here and here. Barbed-wire fences, electrified if the rumours are true. There are convoys shipping items in on a daily basis.”

“Do we know what they’re building?”

Peggy shook her head. “We know it’s some kind of weapons facility,” she said, “but no one who was taken in ever got out.” She held out a transponder. “Once you get out, activate this. We’ll be able to locate you and pick you up.”

Steve’s hand closed around hers and the transponder. His fingers were warm. “I’ll look forward to seeing you,” he said.

They were both leaning forwards over her lap, over the map, and she searched his face. It was the height of folly and risk, but she leaned that little bit closer, closing the distance between them and pressing her lips to his. She felt, tasted, his sigh against her mouth, and lifted her other hand to curl into his hair, just for a moment. The plane jolted beneath them and forced them to remember it was hardly the time. 

“Don’t be late, Private,” she whispered against his lips. “I appreciate punctuality.”

His eyes were closed and he was breathing shallowly. “Yes, ma’am.”

She was about to lean in to claim another last kiss when the rattle of gun fire and the impact of some kind of incendiary made the plane jolt.

“Small problem, guys!” Stark yelled through from the cockpit

Steve was on his feet before Peggy could stop him, snapping a chute in place.

“Wait!” she exclaimed as he pulled open the door. “We’re taking you all the way in!”

He looked up at her, lips swollen, eyes bright. He was grinning. “You’ve got to get back and roll out the welcome wagon for me,” he said, the pressed his fingers to his lips, blew her a kiss and threw himself out of the plane.

Peggy leaned out of the door as much as she dared, her heart pounding.

Far below, she saw the pale bloom of the parachute opening, then the plane tilted as Stark banked wildly out of the range of the German guns. She staggered, pushing the door closed and locking the seal back in place.

“He out?” Stark called back.

She braced her hand against the wall and made her way to the cockpit. “The parachute released cleanly,” she said, slipping into the co-pilot’s seat. “He has the transponder. It’s just a matter of waiting now.”

Stark slanted a sideways look at her.

“You might want to fix your lips before we get back,” he said. “You’re kinda smudged.”

Peggy looked out of the cockpit window and lifted one hand to wipe around her lips with her fingertip. “I would be obliged, Mr Stark, if you would keep that to yourself.”

In the glass, she could see his reflection as he turned to look at her. He was smiling ruefully.

“We just threw that crazy kid out into Nazi-held territory,” he said. “I can’t think of a better way for him to go than wearing your lipstick.”

Peggy gave him a look. “I’m in earnest, Mr Stark.”

He took one hand off the steering grid and drew a cross over his heart. “Won’t breathe a word,” he promised. “Cross my heart. And if he comes back, I’m gonna have to come up with something special just for him.”

“When,” she corrected quietly, looking back out the window. “When he comes back.”

“Yeah,” Stark said. “When.”


	13. By Toil and Deeds

Steve knew he had the advantage.

No one spotted his chute as he descended. The gunfire had stopped, which meant Peggy and Stark were clear. He popped the harness as soon as he was on the ground, bundling up the white fabric and shoving in the undergrowth, out of sight. 

He’d kept eyes on the base as he spiralled down, grateful once more for the enhancements the serum had given his vision. If he was right, he was less than ten kilometres south-west of the base, and not too far from the road that went right up to the gates.

The forest wasn’t too thick, but the undergrowth was dense, so getting to the road as soon as possible was the best plan. He started running, crouching to snatch a handful of mud and smearing it onto his cheeks. Last thing he wanted was someone spotting his pale face in the shadows as he darted between the trees.

He was less than half a kilometre from the road when he heard the rumble of an approaching vehicle.

They got deliveries he remembered. If he could get into the truck heading straight into the base, he could get in unnoticed. 

He took half a dozen rapid breaths then ran as fast as he could. He could hear the convoy approaching. At least three trucks, if his hearing was right. The branches and bushes caught on his legs, but he tore through it, crashing down to his knees in the ditch by the side of the road. 

They weren’t moving fast, which was a good thing. He let the first go by, then dived, tossing a quick prayer heavenwards, between the wheels of the second. It missed him by a hair’s breadth, and he rolled flat on his back, panting, as he fumbled with a pair of grapple hooks on his belt. The third truck was so close behind that they wouldn’t have the chance to see him and he held his breath as the front fender almost brushed the tip of his nose.

The undercarriage was a mess of pipes and metal. Steve wrapped a hand around each grappling hook, the metal cool against his palms, and brought them both up to lock around the driveshaft. 

It - and the hooks - held, and he was dragged along the ground, the shield becoming a makeshift sled. He kicked up one leg, then the other, to brace his feet against the undercarriage, and pulled his weight up off the ground. His arms shook with effort, but he tightened his grip, and forced himself to keep breathing evenly, in and out, despite the fumes wrapping around him.

It should only have been six kilometres, but it was the longest six kilometres of his life.

By the time they reached the gates of the base, his eyes were pressed shut to keep them from burning, and every muscle in his body was tense and aching with the effort of holding himself still and silent. The trucks rumbled to a halt, and he breathed out explosively, opening his eyes to squint along to the trucks in front. 

The guards were shining a light under each truck in turn.

Carefully, he lowered himself back to the ground, unhooking the grapples. He turned onto his front, crawling to hide in the shadow of the tyres. The lights shone under the truck in front, and he pressed himself down into the dirt. 

As soon as the lights moved, he took a sharp breath then crawled forward as silently as he could to slip beneath the second truck. It was easy enough to latch on to the bottom of the truck for the last hundred metres of the journey. It was parked up alongside a dozen like it, and Steve emerged, dirty and smoke-stained, but unnoticed. 

The base made his breath catch.

The place was bigger than Phillips had said, probably bigger than any of them realised.

Hidden in the shadows, he watched, taking in the numbers and the scale of the operation. There were hundreds of soldiers, and crates were being hauled every which way. Whatever they were doing, they were working on something big. 

He stayed close to the wall, keeping to the shadows as much as he could. There were several doors, most of them guarded, but a small one seemed to be neglected. It had no handle, which meant it could only open from the inside. He glanced around, then darted towards it, stepping into the deep doorway. 

The door was metal, heavy and unyielding. He pressed his ear to it. Beyond it, he could hear the thumping rumble of machinery and distant voices.

On one hand, there were doors that were guarded. On the other, no one was using this door, which meant there might not be guards on the other side. Or if there were, there might be a whole legion of them.

Potato, potatoh.

He swung the shield around from his back, slipping his right arm into the leather straps, then rapped on the door twice with the butt of his gun.

To his relief, the door opened. The guard inside was wearing a helmet, but he had to bend to look out and a sharp blow from the shield dropped him like a rock. Steve stifled the ringing echo with a touch, and dragged the unconscious man through the doorway, depositing him neatly in the shadows.

A sliver of light was still visible through the door, and he took a breath, before slipping through the opening and into the factory.

The sound hit him like a wall. The place was massive, and whatever they were constructing, it wasn’t just a guns or lasers. The roof looked a mile away, and steel gantries and beams criss-crossed here and there. The light was strange, he noticed. A pale, effervescent blue like no electric light he’d ever seen before.

There were even more people inside than there were outside, and he could make out men in tattered US uniforms working on the factory floor. A whistle blew somewhere, and guns were raised. The workers, the prisoners, slumped with relief.

He searched along their faces wildly, as they drew together in the centre of the floor, but there was no sign of Bucky among them. Most of them had their hands raised and their eyes down. Some of them were limping, stumbling, as their guards started forcing them towards an open doorway. 

They were being herded, he realised, like animals. Back to their pens.

If they were all being locked up together, then that was where Bucky would be. If Bucky wasn’t there…

He pushed the thought from his mind.

First thing he had to do was find the holding cells.

No.

Second thing.

First thing he had to do was get across the factory floor, in a US uniform, covered in mud and carrying a shield. And maybe steal some of whatever they were working on, to keep Stark on his good side. 

He took a deep breath and blew it out.

No big deal, really.

He ran forward and leapt over the railing to drop down onto the factory floor.

 

________________________________________________

 

Peggy was on edge.

It wasn’t that they had returned to hear Phillips giving them permission to land through the radio. It wasn’t that the Colonel had been standing by the runway, hands on his hips, waiting for them. It wasn’t the lambasting he’d given both of them for being damned stupid and reckless with US military equipment.

None of that was of significance.

What mattered was Steve.

She knew too well that he was capable of taking care of himself, but the scale was something she had tried not to think about. The rattle of gunfire had brought it crashing home, and watching his parachute flare between the blazing spots of light was terrifying.

She had been ordered back to her tent by the Colonel, and had made no argument.

Being in the command tent would not have made any difference. 

Regardless of her location, her mind would still be on that pale bloom of silk against the blackness. Good god, she didn’t even know if he’d survived the jump, let alone reached the base. There was a world of difference between a panzer division on an open cliff, and what had been confirmed as one of the largest HYDRA factories yet identified.

Sitting on her bed, she clasped her hands together.

A prayer made on the battlefield was worth no more nor less than a prayer made in a church.

Her faith had been tested far too many times, but she could not help whispering a plea that if it were possible, if he could be spared, if he could be saved, if only to prove to the world how exceptional he was…

Someone rattled on the laces of the tent door, and she looked up.

“Yes?”

“Hey, Carter.”

She hastily brushed at her eyes, straightened her back, and rose. 

Stark was standing outside the tent, looking around furtively. “Will people talk if I come in?”

“Yes,” she said, planting herself firmly in the doorway.

“Even if I can prove your boy is alive?”

She stared at him. “Explain.”

He opened his hand, revealing a small rectangular device. A small light was flashing red, on and off. 

“It’s a tracker,” he said excitedly. “I forgot I’d fitted one on the shield in case some bastard tried to steal my vibranium. It was flashing when I got back to engineering.”

Peggy grabbed his arm, pulling him into the tent. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“I was going to tell the Colonel,” he said, “but after the chewing out we just got, I figure we keep it between us. We don’t need everyone waiting to turn on us if the light stops blinking.”

“A wise decision,” she said, staring at the box. “How long will it last?”

“Two, three days,” he replied. “If he gets in and out and contacts us, that’ll be more than enough time.”

She hesitated, then asked, “May I?”

Stark nodded and smiled. It was a quieter smile than the one he used at his press events, brief and small. “You really care about him, don’t you?”

She picked up the tracker, cradling it carefully in her palm. “Yes,” she replied simply.

He wrapped his hand around hers, closing her fingers around the tracker. “Keep it,” he said, “you need it more than I do.”

Peggy had to take a breath, steadying herself. “Thank you, Mister Stark. I appreciate it.”

He just laughed quietly. “I know,” he said. He stepped back and tapped two fingers to his brow in a half-salute. “I’ll see you, Carter, and if he calls, you know where to find me.”

He strode out of the tent, leaving her there, and she sat back down on the edge of her bed. In her hands, the tracker pulsed like a heartbeat.


	14. In Image of Commanding Gods

The grates rattled overheard.

Steve pressed back against one of the support columns of the gantry. He didn’t know why he was holding his breath, but it didn’t hurt. The run across the factory floor had been frantic, but he wasn’t out of breath. Still, better not to risk being heard.

He peered up, and saw the booted feet of a dozen soldiers on the next level up. They were some of the guards who had walked the prisoners down to their cells.

Cells was a liberal term.

The men had been packed up in cages like rats. There were at least ten men per cell, some of them sitting in exhausted heaps on the floor, others paced and snarled at their warders. The guards must have considered the cells secure, because there were only two men left to watch over them.

One of the guards was currently walking back and forth in front of the cages, rattling the bars with his stick, and riling up the prisoners. The other was patrolling the gantry that ran along directly above the cells, where Steve was currently hidden. Steve wasn’t surprised to see the man lift his helmet to spit down on the cells below.

He waited until the sounds of boot steps above faded and the door clanked into place.

The shield was tight on his arm, and he shifted his grip on the pistol in his hand.

Once he was seen, there was no going back. Once he was seen, every man in the cells below would be depending on him to get them out, without getting caught.

He swung out from the shadow of the colonnade as the guard approached, and smiled winningly. “Hey,” he said. “Wo ist the bathroom?”

The element of surprise was good enough that he managed to knock the guy in the face with the shield, sending him staggering back, head flung back. He pressed the gun into the opening under the man’s helmet and pulled the trigger. The shot was muffled, but the crash of the guard’s body hitting the gantry wasn’t.

The other guard looked up in time to see leaping over the edge of the gantry, and took Steve’s full weight on his neck and shoulders. The crack echoed off the walls and Steve rolled to his feet, heart racing. 

Several of the prisoners had approached the bars of the nearest cage.

“Who the hell are you meant to be?” The speaker was a big guy with a thick moustache.

Steve fumbled at the guard’s belt for the keys and hurried over to the cage. “That’s not important,” he said. “I’m here to get you guys out.”

One of the men peered at him as he fumbled with the locks. “You do look rather like a scarecrow,” he said.

Steve gave the man a look. “Next time I rescue you, I’ll show up in top and tails,” he said, as he pulled the door open. He motioned them out urgently. “Get the others out.” He searched their faces. “Have any of you seen a Sergeant James Barnes?”

“Yeah.” An Asiatic soldier said. “They took him to the bay.”

Steve looked at him. “The bay?”

An Afro-American spoke up. “It’s two levels up, in near the science labs.” He hesitated, then added, “They do tests down there. Nasty stuff.” 

“I’m afraid if he’s gone down there, he won’t be coming back,” the English soldier added. “No one else ever has.”

Steve felt a knot tightening in the middle of his chest. He couldn’t believe that. He looked around at the men, and held out the keys. “You guys get out of here,” he said. “Tree-line is north-west, about eighty yards past the gates. Get to the clearing. I’ll find you there.” He nodded to the big man. “Give them hell.”

“You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Steve grinned like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Sure,” he said. “I’m the one they send in when it’s too hot for anyone else.” The dirt on his face hid his features enough for them to be able to tell he was lying through his teeth. He nodded to the doors. “Go!”

He turned tail and sprinted in the other direction. The stairs were back the way he’d come, but there were ledges and breaches that worked handholds and footholds all the way up the wall, and after climbing a cliff, shinning up the wall wasn’t a big deal. 

He heard a couple of the soldiers below exclaiming in surprise, and grinned. It always helped to be underestimated.

At the top of the wall, he slipped out into a barely-lit corridor.

The sirens started blaring, and he glanced back.

The prison-break had been noticed.

There was no point in hiding anymore, so he ran out into the corridor, heading along and up the nearest flight of stairs. Most of the soldiers didn’t seem to expect anyone to be coming up, as they rushed down, and he barrelled into them, sending them flying, rolling and tumbling down the staircases.

He didn’t waste bullets as they fell, skidding into another hallway and running as fast as he could. 

Ahead of them, a door was sliding closed. If it closed, he was trapped, and that wasn’t in his plans. He jerked the shield off his arm and threw it. It sliced through the air like a silver discus and wedged between the door and the frame, keeping it open.

Steve whooped, racing after it, and jerked it free as he slid through the gap. 

There were men on the other side, but he got them with clean shots, one to the head, the other to the throat. They dropped where they fell, and Steve scrambled over their bodies to the next flight of stairs. 

Two levels up, they said.

Between the sirens and the soldiers, the base was in chaos. People were running everywhere, and he wasn’t surprised to find the second level almost deserted. He only saw one short, stocky guy there, his face half-hidden by a hat, the light gleaming on small, round spectacles.

They stared at each other for a moment, then the guy turned and ran, heading for another flight of stairs at the far end of the hall. 

Steve started after him, but stopped short at a faint groan of pain.

He knew that sound.

He’d heard it before.

Bucky.

There was a room just off the corridor, the door wide open, and he crept in, wary of attack. 

It was some kind of lab, like the one they had taken him to for the serum, but so much worse. There were tools on trays, racks of metal, wires, needles, and a steel bed with a figure strapped down on it. 

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. He ran closer, dropping the shield.

“Bucky?”

Bucky didn’t even look at him, his eyes half-closed. He was alive, but he was murmuring his name and number over and over, and Steve didn’t even want to think about what that meant. His face was pale, bruised, and thick leather straps were wrapped over his ribs, his waist and his legs.

God, Steve knew he was stronger, but the straps were thick.

He wrapped both his hands around one strap, drew a breath and released it, then pulled as hard as he could. Pain shot through his muscles, as he strained every inch of his body. It didn’t feel like it was going to give, when suddenly, the leather snapped and he fell back, knocking over a tray of blades. 

The second snapped more easily and he shoved them aside, reaching over Bucky to shake his shoulders, trying to rouse him.

“Bucky,” he said softly, urgently. “Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve.”

Bucky’s eyes opened a little wider. “Steve?” he echoed, then seemed to understand. He turned his head, squinting, and almost looked like he smiled. “Steve?”

“C’mon,” Steve said, sliding his hands under his shoulders, trying to help him up. They both stumbled as Bucky slid off the table, unsteady on his feet. He was upright. He was upright and alive, and god, it had been too long since they had seen each other. He reached up to steady Bucky by the shoulders, trying not to laugh, not to cry. “I thought you were dead.”

Bucky was staring at him, squinting in the half-light. “I thought you were smaller.”

There wasn’t time to explain it, not with explosions nearby and people shooting. He glanced around the room, for any other victims of the scientists, but so far, looked like the guys in the cell were right. Bucky was the only survivor. The only other things he could see were the maps on the wall and machines.

Bucky had to be the priority.

He picked up the shield, then slipped his shoulder under Bucky’s arm. “C’mon,” he said, half-carrying, half-dragging his friend towards the door. “We gotta get out of here.”

 

___________________________________________

 

Steve didn’t call over the transponder. 

He didn’t make any kind of contact.

The light on the tracker had winked out twenty hours earlier.

The aerial scouts couldn’t get eyes on the base, and there was no sign of him.

She had entered the command tent with surveillance data to hear the Colonel dictating the condolence letter, and had to school her expression to show nothing. The letter would be sent to an aunt, somewhere in the Midwest, she knew. His family was small and scattered, but even they deserved to know. 

The Colonel hadn’t spoken to her since the night Steve jumped from the plane, except to give orders, and all she could do was stand at attention and await them. 

When he stopped talking, she stepped further into the tent, laying down the data. “Last surveillance flight is back,” she said quietly. “Visibility was too poor, but no sign of noticeable activity.”

The Colonel approach the table, snatching up the papers. He dismissed his typist, and looked at her. “That boy was Erskine’s golden goose,” he said. “The Senators back home had heard about the progress. They were thinking we might be on to a winner, and now, I have to tell them that the goose is cooked.”

Peggy’s hands were shaking, but she clenched them into fists. “With respect, sir, I don’t regret my actions, and I’m fully aware that had I not helped him, Private Rogers would have done the same regardless.”

“You and I both know that,” Phillips snapped. “Hell, we all remember the panzers, but people will want someone to point a finger at. They won’t touch Stark, but you? You’re fresh meat and they are the wolves, and they’re gonna tear you to pieces for this.”

Her lips felt like they were trembling, but she pressed them together, gathered herself. “If that’s what it comes to,” she said, “but I stand by what I said. Private Rogers wouldn’t regret his actions. He believed he was doing the right thing.”

“And the right thing got him killed,” Phillips said. He ran a hand over his eyes, then lowered it. “We were finally getting somewhere. Now, the rising star’s gone, we’re out.”

Peggy stared at him. “They can’t.”

“Oh, believe me, if telling them that worked, I woulda had a billboard painted in red letters set up in Time Square,” he replied. He sighed, shaking his head. “They gave us time and they gave us funding, and all they got was a dead little runt with a liking for heroics.”

She had to look away, her breathing uneven. 

“I’m sorry, Carter,” Phillips said finally. 

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. “There’s no need for that,” she said. “I stand by my actions…” She trailed off, frowning. People were rushing past the tent, shouting. There were voices raised, cheers.

“What the hell…?” Phillips said, snatching up his cap and striding out. 

She hurried after him, the distraction a blessed relief. 

It seemed like almost the whole camp was gathering at the main gates. The Colonel pushed through their ranks, and she fell into his wake. He stopped short so suddenly that she almost walked into his back. 

Over his shoulder, she could see dozens of soldiers pouring into the camp through the main gates, some limping, some riding on tanks, some supporting others. They were led by a tall man in a heavy leather jacket and German helmet.

Her mouth opened in shock.

Steve.

Only not Steve as she’s last seen him. 

When they last met, he was still lean and slim, and they stood eye to eye.

The man in front of her was taller, broader, his shoulders impossibly wide. His neck was corded with muscle, his jaw square. Even under the jacket, she could see his arms had thickened even more. He walked like a predator, graceful and deadly, and no wonder the Colonel had stopped short at the sight of him. 

He came closer and stopped in front of Phillips, raising a hand in a perfect salute.

As if nothing had changed, he said, “Some of these men need medical attention.” Phillips didn’t immediately reply, and she could see the Steve she knew in the strong-jawed features of the man before them. “I’d like to surrender myself for disciplinary action.”

The Colonel looked him slowly up and down. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, then turned and strode away, leaving Peggy there, in front of Steve.

His face broke into the smile she knew and - yes - loved. 

She could barely keep her own smile from returning. “I’m not sure about the new outfit,” she said. “A little Germanic, don’t you think?”

He looked down at the jacket, and underneath it, she could see the scraps of his uniform. It looked like it had burst open in places. “It was that or naked, and I didn’t really want to give the guys a show.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” she retorted. “I’ve heard stories, Private.” She let her eyes run over him, then come back to his face. “I suppose that’s why you’re late, hm? Picking out a new wardrobe?”

When he laughed and ducked his head, she saw the man she knew again. He pulled out the ruined transponder from his pocket. A bullet had torn through it, shattering the case. “Couldn’t call my ride,” he said.

“Well, I suppose that’s a reasonable excuse,” she said, and against all the rules and regulations she had set for herself, she reached up and grabbed the front of his coat, and pulled him down to kiss him.


	15. Each Discordant Brother

Rain was beating down on the canvas of Steve's small tent.

According to Colonel Phillips, the majority of the wounded would get shipped back to England as soon as possible. The liberated prisoners who were still standing and could give detailed reports of the factory were to be flown back to London the next morning, along with Steve and the SSR staff.

He poured hot coffee from a billy can into two tin mugs balanced on the stack of boxes that had once been his desk. The tent felt a lot smaller now, and he had to bend to stop his head from touching the sides, but it still felt better than being out in the camp with people staring at him like he was going to explode.

Phillips had stared at him.

Peggy had too, but in a totally different way. When she had grabbed the front of his stolen jacket and pulled him down to kiss him, he had been caught off-balance. Men hooted and cheered and she drew back, flushed but unashamed.

"Welcome back, Private," she had said. "Debriefing in an hour."

They hadn't had a chance to speak since then, not before the debrief, and definitely not after.

He'd spent the rest of the time trying to convince Bucky to get checked over. Bucky refused point blank. He said he was walking and talking, and had no place being in the med bay, especially when people were badly injured and needing treatment.

The best Steve could do was persuade his friend to come to his tent and rest in his own bed.

He turned around from his desk, the mugs in his hands.

Bucky was sitting on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. He looked like hell. After they'd got out of the compound, he'd been quiet, only speaking when spoken to, but they were alone now, and he didn't need to pretend to be holding it together. 

Steve sat down on the small stool, facing him. "Here," he said, holding out one of the mugs. "I don't have any sugar. Sorry."

Before, Bucky would have made some dumb joke about being sweet enough.

Not now.

Now, it looked like it was an effort for him to lift his head from his hands. He took the mug carefully, and Steve could see how much he was shaking. He sipped the coffee, grimacing at the bitterness, then looked over the rim at Steve, not quite meeting his eyes.

"So this isn't all some crazy dream." His voice was hoarse, rough. "Coffee doesn't taste this bad in dreams."

One side of Steve's mouth turned up, but he wasn't smiling. "Not a dream," he agreed. The stool was so close that their knees were knocking together. "God, Buck, when they said the 107th were gone, I thought I'd never see you again."

"Yeah," Bucky said. He looked down into his mug. Another sip. Another grimace. "You really here this time?"

Steve stared at him. This time. Dreams. He set down his cup and reached over the space between them, taking Bucky's face between his hands. "I'm here," he said, trying to keep his voice even. Bucky's cheeks were cold and wet, and he didn't look up. "I swear it's me, Buck."

Bucky's trembling hands turned the mug, clockwise, then anti-clockwise. "Believed it before," he said. "Then I woke up, and they started again." He blinked hard, and hot tears were wet against Steve's palms. "Course I'd dream you coming in like a goddamned dime comicbook hero, big enough to fight the monsters and save me." He laughed, a brittle, fragile sound. "It's lasting longer than they normally do."

Steve felt sick. He pressed his palms to Bucky's cheeks. "Buck, look at me," he pleaded. "Just look at me. You know me."

Bucky met his eyes finally. "No," he said in a whisper, "I don't. You got his voice, but you aren't him. He's a little guy. You're... you're what he should be."

"Bucky," Steve's voice shook. He didn't know what to say. 

Bucky's face broke into an unsteady smile. "Steve wouldn't know what to do with himself if he got big," he said.

"I didn't," Steve admitted helplessly. "I still don't."

Especially not now, not with the latest surge of changes.

He and Bucky had been busting out of the factory, and they'd run into the man who had to be Johann Schmidt. He was tall, broad, and had a crazy look in his eye when he saw Steve. He was also blocking their only way out, as the factory burned around them. 

That was when it had all happened.

There was pain and fire and violence and overriding it all was the fact he had to get Bucky out of there. That was all he'd been thinking about. So he'd grown and busted out of his clothes? So what? So he'd hit a guy so hard that he flew backwards? Big deal. So he'd jumped twenty metres over a flaming inferno? 

None of that had mattered, not when he needed to get Bucky out.

But looking back, no wonder Bucky was looking at him like he was a stranger.

Bucky drew back, scrubbing at his cheeks with one fist. He tried to smile. "So what happened? Get bored of maps and decide to be a super hero?"

"This started before the maps," Steve said. God, his voice was shaking and breathless like it used to get when he was about to have an attack. "Buck, you remember I told you I signed up for tests, right? Scientific tests?"

The mug dropped from Bucky's hands, coffee splashing on their pants and boots. "Don't."

"I want you to know what happened," Steve said urgently.

Bucky shook his head, his breathing coming too fast. "No. Not that. Stevie didn't. Not that. He's too small. It'd kill him. He's too small." He reached out, grabbing Steve's wrist hard, and his eyes were wide, whites visible all around. "Tell me something else. Magic or... or he got better." His grip was almost painful. "It's not science. He doesn't deserve that."

Steve lifted his other hand to cover Bucky's hand on his arm. Even if no one knew what had happened to Bucky in the lab, it was starting to show. "Okay," Steve said as gently as he could. "It isn't science. Just dumb luck."

Bucky laughed again, sharp and brittle. "Yeah. Dumb luck. That's Stevie." He jerked his hand back and ran both palms over his face. "God, you must think I'm crazy."

"No," Steve whispered. "Never, Buck." He hesitated, then reached over and squeezed Bucky's shoulder. "How about you get some rest?"

Bucky looked up at him. "You'll stay with me until I wake up?"

"Til the end of the line," Steve replied, trying to smile.

Bucky made a stifled sound, then dragged his legs up onto the narrow cot. He was shivering again, and didn't resist as Steve dragged a blanket over him. His hand moved suddenly, catching Steve's wrist.

"You're more like him than the others," he breathed. "Like him. Just bigger."

Steve smoothed the blanket over his shoulder. "I know," he said softly. 

Bucky's hand slid down from Steve's wrist, wrapping tight around Steve's hand, as he closed his eyes, as if afraid Steve would slip away.

Steve stayed there, motionless, until Bucky's breathing evened out and his grip loosened. He gently slid his fingers free of Bucky's, then rose and went to the entrance of the tent. The night air was cool and damp, the rain beating on the ground. He turned his face up to the sky, and swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump in his throat.

"Steve?" Peggy's voice made him turn. She was a dozen paces away, under an umbrella.

He tried to smile, because he really was happy to see her, but he was so damn tired. "Hey," was all he could say.

She hurried over, raising the umbrella above his head. She was at least half a head shorter than him now, and that caught him off-balance. He wasn't used to having her look up to him. "You need to rest," she said. "Have you eaten?"

He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face to wipe away both tears and rain. "I- no. I got distracted."

"Your friend?"

He looked back at the tent. "Sleeping," he said. He looked back at her, half-expecting to be ordered to go to get something to eat. "I can't leave him, Peggy. He- he's not good." 

Her hand found his, her fingers cool from the rain. "You stay there," she said. "I'll fetch you some food."

He nodded, his throat tight with emotion. 

She stepped closer to him, and rose on her toes to briefly embrace him. "It'll be all right." He was so tired, and she was close and warm. He hunched down, burying his face briefly in her shoulder. It felt wrong, having to lean down to her, but she didn't seem to mind. She stroked her fingers through his damp hair, and gently kissed his ear. "It'll be all right," she repeated softly. "Go in out of the rain. I'll be back in a moment."

He nodded, drawing back. "Thank you," he whispered. 

 

 

_______________________________________________

 

Peggy knew her reputation was in tatters, but she didn't give a damn as she hurried away from Steve and the tent.

The camp was full to overflowing. There weren’t enough tents, so she had given up her own to several of the wounded men. Even the command tent had been turned into a makeshift ward until the patients could be transferred to one of the ships to take them home. 

If that meant she had to squeeze into Steve’s little tent with him and his friend, then she was quite willing to do so.

The mess tent was still packed, rank with sweat and too many bodies, but people were in high spirits, and she heard a couple of men hooting at her. It said a great deal about the mood in the base that - for once - she allowed it to go unmentioned.

She managed to reach the table and filled a deep bowl with what was left of the tinned stew that had been broken out in celebration of the rescue. There were some stale biscuits left as well, which - folded in a handkerchief - fitted neatly into her pocket. No one asked why she was taking food enough for at least two people. Private Rogers’ absence had been noted.

The Colonel passed her on the way back to the tent, half-hidden beneath the umbrella. He raised his eyebrows and she lifted her chin, daring him to forbid it, but it seemed that it was a night for decorum to be set aside.

Steve was - at last - being recognised for the good he had done, and privacy and his own choice of company were his rewards.

When she slipped back into the tent, Steve was sitting on the stool by the cot, watching his friend sleeping. Sergeant Barnes was curled up in a tight knot, one arm twisted up beneath his head, his brow furrowed as if he was in pain.

She set down the bowl and scraped some of the stew into the tin plate sticking out of one of his boxes, handing it down to him. Steve barely even seemed to notice, eating mechanically, his eyes staying on his friend. She took a little stew from the bowl for herself, then pulled one of his boxes of supplies to serve as a makeshift stool and sat down beside him.

Steve cleared the plate, but sat with it - empty - in his lap. 

“He doesn’t believe it’s me,” he said quietly. “Bucky. He thinks I’m… I don’t know. A dream. A hallucination.”

She reached over and squeezed his arm. “You do look rather different,” she murmured, “and he has been through a traumatic experience.”

His eyes met hers. They were red-rimmed, as if he’d been crying. “They had him strapped to a table, Peggy,” he whispered. “They were using him for some kind of tests.” He looked back at his friend. “Schmidt knew about the serum. He used it before. Maybe that’s what they were trying to do to him.”

“We reached him in time,” Peggy said gently. “He’s here, and he’s intact.”

“So was I, before the changes started happening,” Steve said unhappily. “Peggy, we saw Schmidt. He…” He shook his head, setting the plate aside. “He tore his face off right in front of us.” He shivered. “I don’t know what he became, but if they did that to Bucky…”

“Erskine will be able to help,” she said at once. “I’m sure he will.”

Steve nodded. “If we can convince Bucky we’re not all a dream,” he said. “It must have felt like it. I’m there, twice the size I was, busting out my uniform, knocking Nazis flying. Some crazy guy is ripping his face off. The building’s exploding.” He laughed shakily. “God, it must have seemed like a nightmare.”

Peggy searched his face, then reached over and smoothed his hair gently. “How long is it since you’ve slept, Steve? You look as exhausted as he does.”

He shook his head. “London? I think. I don’t know.”

She got up from the box, pushing it to the end of the cot. The matting on the floor of the tent was dry, one of the little luxuries for the operatives working with expensive materials. “Do you have another blanket?” she said. “Or that coat of yours?”

“What for?”

She moved another of the boxes on top of the first, then another, stacking them neatly out of the way and clearing some more of the floor. “Because you’re going to get some sleep, and I don’t want you catching hypothermia.”

“I need to be awake, if he wakes up,” he said, shaking his head.

“You will be,” she said, stepping around him, her hand brushing his shoulder, “because I’ll be here to wake you.”

He looked up at her. “Peggy, people are gonna talk.”

“Let them,” she said, crouching down to remove one boot, then the other. She tucked them under the cot, within easy reach, then sat down on the floor. “I have grown quite fond of you, Steve. I don’t intend to let you exhaust yourself into unconsciousness.” She patted her thigh. “Rest your head.”

He stared at her as if he couldn’t understand what she was saying. “Peggy…”

“Steve, please,” she said, iron underlying the silk. “I have had seven years of dealing with soldiers. I think I can deal with wagging tongues well enough.” She patted her lap again. “Wrap yourself up and lie down, would you?”

He hesitated, and she knew he had to be exhausted when he made no further argument. He took the jacket off the end of the cot and curled down on the floor beside her, resting his head on her thigh. 

He was rigid, tense, as if terrified of crossing a line, and it was only when she started stroking his hair that he slowly subsided, curling that large body into a ball that almost looked as small as he had been only days earlier. 

Little by little, his body slowly relaxed. Peggy’s fingers combed through his hair gently. She blinked back tears, as he sank into sleep, her dear little soldier. “That’s right, darling,” she whispered, so softly she could scarcely hear it. “You’re safe. I’ll take care of you.”


	16. Much Beyond Belief

Quiet voices woke him.

Steve opened his eyes, squinting. A thin slice of daylight was cutting through the tent flaps, and he looked up. Peggy. He remembered the night before, he remembered resting his head on her thigh. Her leg was still beneath his head, her hand resting on his hair, and he sat bolt upright. “God, Peggy, I’m sorry.”

“For doing what you were told for once?” Peggy said dryly. 

There was a faint, weary chuckle from the cot.

“That’s Steve all right,” Bucky murmured.

Steve looked wildly around at the bed. Peggy was unfolding her legs beside it, stretching them out and rubbing at her thighs. She was leaning on the edge of the cot, where Bucky was still laid out under the blanket. He looked pale and sick, but he was watching Steve. One side of his mouth turned up.

“Hey.”

“Buck?”

Bucky nodded, then waved Peggy back so he could push himself upright. “Yeah,” he said. “And you.” He shook his head slowly. “Agent Carter filled me in. Christ, Rogers. I leave you alone for five minutes…”

Steve moved closer to the bed, kneeling back down in front of Bucky. Even like that, they were eye to eye. “I wanted to be useful,” he said.

Bucky reached out and pulled him closer, and Steve wrapped him in a hug that enveloped Bucky completely. It was so different from the night Bucky left. Bucky felt so small. He was much thinner than he had been, and Steve felt him wince.

“Easy,” he said, pushing at Steve’s shoulder. “You’ve got a hell of grip.”

Steve sat back on his heels, dropping his hands to his lap. “Sorry,” he said with a grimace. “I… this is all kinda new to me.”

Bucky’s hand was still on his shoulder, pressing carefully, as if testing he was real. “Yeah,” he said. “So we just walked thirty miles and you didn’t need to stop for breath once. That’s new.”

Steve couldn’t help smiling. “You don’t want to know what I had to do to get into the base,” he said.

Bucky stared at him, half of his face cast in shadow. His eyes were fixed on Steve. “If it was anything like us coming out of there,” he said, “I think it’s better for my heart if I don’t know.” Steve could feel Bucky’s hand trembling on his shoulder “You’re okay? You’re really okay?”

Steve clasped his hand. “My back straightened out,” he said. “I can see colours. I can hear.” He laughed unsteadily. “I can walk thirty miles without stopping to breathe.” He squeezed Bucky’s fingers. “It hurt a little when they did it, but it was worth it.”

“Worth it,” Bucky echoed. He wrapped his hand around the back of Steve’s neck. “Don’t you ever do something so stupid again.”

“Once in a lifetime thing,” Steve promised. He braced his hands on Bucky’s knees. “What about you, Buck? You okay?”

Bucky stared at him as if he didn’t understand the question. “I’m out,” he said. “Me and the guys.” He lowered his eyes, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel real yet.”

“It’s quite real, sergeant. No need to worry about that,” Peggy said. She touched Steve on the shoulder. “Shall I fetch you some breakfast?”

He nodded, his eyes fixed on Bucky. “Please.”

Bucky was the one to watch her leave the tent, a mix of emotions visible in his eyes. “She’s your girl?” he said, a note of admiration in his voice.

Steve smiled wryly. “I think it’s more like I’m her boy,” he said. “She’s more than just some dame.”

Bucky looked back at him. “I can tell,” he said. There was a spark, a glint of the old flirtatious Bucky in his eyes. “She’s something.”

“Eyes off, Barnes,” Steve said, knocking him lightly on the knee. 

Bucky almost managed to smile. “May the best man win?”

Steve snorted. “She liked me when I was a runt,” he said. “You’ve got no chance.”

“Just because she never met a charming gentleman…” It almost sounded convincing, but Steve could tell Bucky was just saying the right words, smiling just enough to act like he was almost himself.

“And you have?”

Bucky almost smiled again, but it slipped of his face like butter off a hot pan. He leaned forward suddenly, gripping Steve’s arms as if he was afraid he might vanish. “What they did to you,” he said. “Can it be undone?”

Steve knew Bucky wasn’t asking on Steve’s part. Steve wasn’t the only one to be strapped down and experimented on. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But we got someone back in London who’ll be able to help. The one who developed the serum. He’s working on the results. He knows how it works. Could be he knows how to undo it.”

The relief on Bucky’s face almost broke his heart. “That’s something,” he said, releasing Steve’s arms. “Wouldn’t want you to turn into a freakshow like that guy.”

Johann Schmidt.

Now, after seeing the man’s bare face, Steve understood why they called him the Red Skull.

He wasn’t surprised Bucky was afraid of that fate.

“He was weird-looking before he took off the face,” he said. “At least I know I’d be better-looking than him either way.”

It was meant as comfort. Maybe it worked. Maybe it didn’t.

Bucky laughed hoarsely, and rocked forward, knocking his head on Steve’s shoulder. 

“You’re still a dumb little punk,” he said quietly, “even if you’re not so little anymore.”

 

__________________________________________

 

Steve’s friend was unwell.

Peggy wasn’t surprised, given what she’d heard while debriefing some of the prisoners. The details of what happened were hazy, but one thing had become clear: members of the 107th had been used as guinea pigs, some terminally. Sergeant Barnes was one of the fortunate ones.

As if being taken as a prisoner wasn’t bad enough.

When both men had slept, she took the opportunity to study Steve’s friend, the man he risked his life to save. 

They were close in age, but that was where the similarities ended. 

Steve had been small, frail, and ferocious for his size when first she met him. Barnes, even after weeks of labour and torment, was tall, well-formed, and seemingly in good health. He gave the impression of being much more amiable than Steve had been, but given Steve’s demeanour, most people would seem that way.

Quite how they had ended up such fast friends, she didn’t know. 

When Barnes woke from a nightmare, he didn’t make a sound. His eyes snapped open and he stared into nothing, as if expecting to find himself back where he had been held. She had seen such things before, when she had been a nurse, tending soldiers brought back from the front.

“You’re safe,” she said softly, putting out a hand and touching his shoulder.

He flinched, then squinted at her, trying to place her. “Who are you?” he asked.

She told him, and he stared at her doubtfully. 

Softly, so as not to wake Steve, she explained where they were, what had happened to him, and more specifically, what had happened to Steve, who was currently asleep with his head pillowed in her lap.

It seemed to help.

By the time she left the tent and returned with breakfast, Barnes no longer appeared to consider Steve a figment of his imagination or an ill-timed dream. He was still pale, hollow-eyed, but there was a surety in his expression which had been lacking.

It came as no surprise that Steve stayed by his side as the preparations for transport were made. Several planes were allocated, and less than forty-eight hours after Steve returned, leading the liberated prisoners, they were on their way back to London.

Peggy was in the first plane, along with Steve and Barnes. Several of the other soldiers were divided between the other planes as a cautionary measure. Should one of the planes be taken down, there were others who could provide intelligence otherwise.

She sat in the cockpit during take-off and remained there until they had climbed to a level above the clouds, which meant they would be out of range of enemy fire. Once level, she patted the pilot on the shoulder and went back through to the narrow hold.

Steve and Barnes were seated side-by-side on the bench. Barnes looked like he was resting. His eyes were closed, but the his hands were clenched together in his lap suggested he was anything but calm.

Peggy made her way across the floor towards them. She was moving quietly, but Barnes’ eyes opened at once, looking up. Alert, even when resting. She nodded in greeting to him, then sat down on Steve’s other side.

“I sent a telegram ahead,” she murmured. “Doctor Erskine will be waiting for us when we get there.”

“Doctor?” Barnes said guardedly.

Steve patted Barnes on the knee. “The guy I told you about, Buck,” he said. “He’ll need to check me over too. Can’t go busting my uniform every time I do anything.”

“I don’t know,” Barnes muttered, closing his eyes again. “Sight of your bony ass might be enough to scare the Nazis into submission.”

“Bucky,” Steve groaned. “There are ladies present.”

Dark blue eyes opened, flicking to Peggy. “No offence, ma’am.”

Peggy inclined her head. “Private Rogers is a little overzealous about my virtue when it comes to matters of naked men,” she said. “I’m afraid his arse wouldn’t scare anyone. I’ve seen far worse in my time.”

Steve’s face broke into a grin, and she saw the approving twitch of a smile cross Barnes’ pale face. 

“Guess you’d have to be tough,” Barnes said, “putting up with this guy.”

Peggy looked at Steve, then waved one hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Once you stop him leaping on grenades and climbing sheer cliffs, he’s quite manageable.”

To Peggy’s amusement, Steve flushed.

“Leaping on grenades?” Barnes echoed. 

“Once,” Steve protested. “It was one time.”

Barnes lifted his hand and swatted Steve sharply across the back of the head. “I swear to god, I leave you alone for five minutes…”

Steve didn’t look the least bit recalcitrant. If anything, the moment Barnes’ hand struck him, he was grinning like a schoolboy. Some old joke, she imagined, and she saw the way he elbowed Barnes fondly in the ribs. 

Barnes’ indignant scowl faded to a small smile. He looked across at Peggy. “You’re gonna need to get him a leash,” he said. “He’s too big to carry home now.”

“Carry?” Peggy echoed.

“Over my shoulder,” Bucky said, nodding. 

Steve groaned, burying his face in one hand. “I should never have let you two meet.”

Peggy patted him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Steve,” she said. “You needed to have some people who remember what a trouble-maker you really are. We can’t have you getting ideas above your station.”

Barnes’ tired smile widened. “Oh, I like her, Steve,” he said.

“Yeah?” Steve said with a rueful snort. “I’m starting not to.”


	17. Unwilling Cause of Pain

London was grey as they were driven in from the landing strip.

Bucky was sitting in the back seat of the car beside Steve, looking out into the swirling fog. He was clenching his hands together again, and his knuckles were white, the skin pulled so tight over bone it looked like it might burst open. 

Steve nudged him.

Bucky turned to look at him, his eyes going to Steve's chest before rising to his face. The level his eyes used to be, Steve thought.

"At least it's not raining," he said.

One side of Bucky's mouth turned up, but it wasn't a smile. "Yeah," he said. He turned back to the window, looking out again. 

It wasn't a surprise that he was a lot quieter, after what he'd been through. He hadn't said much about what they did to him, but it was enough to give him nightmares and make him flinch even though there wasn't a mark on him. Steve wished he could ask if he was okay, but it was a stupid question. Of course he wasn't. How could he be?

He watched as Bucky wrapped his hands around each other again, tighter.

"Hey," he said after a silence that felt too long. "You want to go for a drink tonight?"

Bucky didn't turn immediately, but when he did, he was smiling, at least with his mouth. It didn't reach his eyes. "You trying to distract me, Rogers?"

Steve smiled enough for the both of them. "If I wanted to do that," he said, "I'd bust out of my clothes again."

Bucky snorted quietly, but the lines in his face softened. "Like I haven't seen that before," he said. "You need to learn some new tricks if you want to impress me."

"You're telling me this doesn't impress you?" Steve said in mock indignation, gesturing to his broader body. He didn't know where they'd rustled up a new uniform for him, but they'd let him keep the leather jacket he'd stolen.

Bucky's eyes flicked over him. "I've seen better."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Babe Phelps doesn't count."

To his relief, Bucky's grin flickered across his face. "Sure he does," he said. "Get picked up by the Dodgers, and we'll talk."

Steve knocked Bucky's elbow with his own. "You don't ask for much."

"Only the best seats in the house," Bucky agreed. He glanced back out of the window. His right foot was tapping uneasily, and Steve watched him unfold and refold his hands again. "So this doctor. He's a good guy?"

"He treated me like you do," Steve said quietly, knowing how much that would say about Erskine.

Both Bucky's feet were tapping anxiously. "Like the mouthy little punk you are?" He frowned, his shoulders tensing. "Were."

"Still am," Steve said. "I'm still me, Buck."

Bucky nodded tightly. His right thumb was tapping his left, and he blew out an unsteady breath as they pulled up in front of the main building. The air smelled damp and cold as they opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

The convoy of other cars drew to a halt behind them.

Half a dozen of the soldiers rescued along with Bucky were there to debrief, and nodded in greeting to him as they filed towards the doors.

"Nice place," Bucky said, looking up at the arched doorways and pillars. "Not at all intimidating."

Steve patted him on the back. "You know what England is like," he said. "Can't throw a stone without hitting a building like this." He jerked his head towards the door. "Want to head in?"

Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets, clenched in tight fists. "Let's get it over with."

Steve kept one hand lightly on Bucky's shoulder as they made their way through the halls. It felt strange, seeing them from a different angle. It was amazing the difference a few inches in height could make. 

He couldn't help notice the people staring. Some of them recognised him at once, but most of them had to do a double-take, gaping at him. He kept his eyes ahead, picking up the pace, and Bucky matched it. 

The corridor that led to the medical rooms were half-lit to ward off the dullness of the day. The door of Erskine's room was open already, and Steve could hear the man's voice, and couldn't help smiling as he entered.

"Hey, doc," he said, as he crossed the threshold.

Erskine spun around, and like Bucky, his eyes went to the level where Steve's eyes used to be. He blinked, then scanned upwards, and Steve saw the way his face lit up with delight. 

"Steven!" he exclaimed, pushing aside some of his aides and hurrying towards him, holding out one hand. He shook Steve's hand vigorously, looking him up and down. "They tell me you have changed again. They do not tell me how much!"

"We had to play things close to the chest," Steve admitted.

"And you feel well? Strong?" Erskine said eagerly.

"Better than ever," Steve said smiling. He looked at Bucky, who was standing rigid by his side. "I don't know how much they told you, but this is my friend, Bucky."

Erskine looked at him, his expression growing sober. "Yes, yes," he said. "They said he would be coming." He offered his hand to Bucky. "Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky looked at the doctor's hand, then back at his face. "Yeah," he said, his voice clipped.

Steve looked at him in concern. "Buck?"

Bucky tugged his hands from his pockets. "How about we just do this, okay?" he said tersely. His face was pale, and he stepped around Erskine and went towards the examination table. Steve saw the way he froze there, staring at the surface.

He moved closer to his friend. "You don't need to do this straight off," he said softly.

Bucky flinched, then spun around and sat down heavily. His hands were shaking as he tried to undo the buttons of his cuffs, shoving his sleeves up over his elbows. "You'll need a blood sample, right, doc?" he said. "Assess the level of tissue regeneration and decay. Monitor the enhancements to the DNA. Modify markers." 

He kept talking, in flat, mechanical tones, using terms Steve had never even heard of before. 

Erskine had.

He was pale and his lips had drawn together in a tight line. "Sergeant Barnes," he said quietly, approaching the examination table.

Bucky stared at him, terror and defiance all over his face. He thrust out an arm at the doctor. "It's your serum they were using, doc," he said. "You started this. You gave them it. You gonna be the one to fix it?"

"I never wanted them to do this," Erskine said quietly. He carefully took Bucky's wrist in his hand. He looked as nervous as Bucky did.

Bucky stared at him. "Didn't stop you doing it, did it?" he said, something dark and bitter in his voice. He looked away from the doctor, his hand curling into a tight fist.

"Buck," Steve said quietly, "this isn't Abraham's fault. They stole the serum from him."

A muscle was twitching in Bucky's cheek as Erskine looped a tourniquet around his arm. His eyes were pressed closed and he was still as ice until the needle broke his skin. The explosion of movement caught everyone by surprise.

The blow to Erskine's chest threw him backwards, crashing into the trays of medical equipment. He landed hard on the tiled floor, knocking his head, and Bucky was running, shoving past Steve and out into the hall. Steve ran to Erskine's side, catching his arm. There was blood on his coat and hands, not all his.

"Find him!" Erskine said, shoving at his chest. "Help him, Steven!"

 

 

_______________________________________________________

 

 

Whispers reached Peggy in the lower offices of the base.

She looked askance at Phillips, who nodded once, and hurried towards the stairs. Fingers pointed her in the right direction, and all too soon she emerged onto the roof of the building, the cool, damp air wrapping around her like a smothering shawl. 

Steve was crouched down beside the balustrade, where Sergeant Barnes was seated, pressed back against the stone. His knees were pulled up against his chest, his fingers sunk into his hair.

She approached, letting the clack of her heels carry across the roof.

Steve was the one to look up, but he didn't rise. "Agent Carter," he said. The worry etched on his face was heartbreaking.

"Perhaps you should fetch Sergeant Barnes a coat," she suggested, crouching down beside the man. He was pale and shivering, his sleeves flapping loose around his forearms. There was blood on one arm, and what she could see of his face was smeared with it too. 

Steve had his own jacket off in a heartbeat, but Barnes didn't move when Steve tried to set it around him. 

Peggy reached over, touching the back of Steve's wrist lightly. "I think the sergeant would prefer his own," she said, inclining her head towards the door. "And possibly some gauze and liniment."

"I should..."

"You should do what your superior officer orders," she murmured. "Now, private."

Steve reluctantly rose, leaving his coat in a heap beside Bucky. "I'll be back in a second, Buck," he promised, touching Barnes' bowed head. Peggy would have needed to be blind to miss the way Barnes flinched. 

She waited until Steve's footsteps faded away, then picked up the abandoned coat. "Lean forward a little, Sergeant," she said firmly. "Now, if you please."

He obeyed stiffly, though he didn't lower his hands from his face as she set Steve's coat around his shoulders. That done, she gently wrapped her fingers around his wrist.

"There's no need for that," she murmured. "It's all right."

His hands dropped away from his face, and she could see the crescents of fingernails cut into the skin, as if he was tearing at his skin. Like Schmidt, she thought. Steve said the man had torn his face off. Barnes must have believed himself damaged like that.

She took her handkerchief out of her pocket, clean and folded, smelling of lavender. "Do you mind if I clean you up?" she asked quietly.

He didn't meet her eyes, but he shook his head, and she settled on her knees on the roof and gently dabbed at the worst of the scratches, smoothing away the dark beads of deep red blood from his brow.

"You'll ruin your nylons," he finally whispered.

Peggy gently brushed his hair back from his brow. "If needs be, I can use gravy," she replied.

His dark blue eyes rose and met hers. "Why?"

"Well, one can't go out with bare legs. It would be a scandal."

He shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "Why are you doing this? Do you think it'll make him like you better?"

She sighed, sitting back on her heels. "I'm doing this, Sergeant," she murmured, "because you are clearly wounded and distressed." She caught a trickle of blood from his cheek in the cloth. "Might I know what happened?"

He lowered his head, covering his eyes with one hand. "I hit the doctor."

She wasn't wholly surprised. "When he was taking your blood?" she guessed.

He nodded in a tight, jerking motion.

"Too much like your last encounter with a doctor?"

He lowered his hand. "I'm not afraid," he said angrily. 

"I didn't say you were," she soothed, taking his arm to gently wipe the blood up, "but when one is hurt, sometimes it becomes difficult to see beyond the person who caused the pain. Sometimes, you find yourself lashing out at someone who had no part in it."

He looked away from her unhappily, his hands twisted into fists.

Peggy folded her handkerchief. "You are not like Schmidt, Sergeant," she murmured. 

He looked at her sharply. "What?"

"Steve told me about the factory," she said quietly.

Barnes lifted one hand to touch the marks at the side of his face. "He beat Steve down," he said, his eyes staring blindly at something beyond the rooftop. "I thought he was going to kill him." He shivered. "He was like that because of that doctor."

"Not so," Peggy murmured. She laid her hand on his arm gently. "From everything I know of it, the serum enhances what is there. You saw what it did to Steve. I saw Schmidt before. He was arrogant. Ambitious. Cruel. I don't imagine you are any of this things, Sergeant."

He laughed sharply. "I knocked the doctor flat," he said, his voice trembling.

"That means nothing," she said, keeping her voice calm and even. "You have been through a terrible ordeal. No one could blame you for trying to escape surroundings that reminded you of it."

He looked at her, eyes so wide that the whites were visible all around. "I wanted to hit him," he confessed in a whisper. "They did this to me because of him. Because of his serum."

"Understandable," she said, squeezing his arm. She looked back across the roof when the door opened. Steve was there, carrying a jacket and a tray of medical kit. She smiled briefly at him, then turned back to Barnes. "If you would rather not see doctor Erskine, perhaps I could take blood samples for him? That way, we can find out if there will be problems."

He tried to smile as Steve approached, but it was far from convincing. "You want to get your hands on me, Agent Carter?"

"One must entertain one's self somehow," she replied. 

Barnes ran his hand, trembling, over his face. "Well," he said, "I'm good for that."


	18. Everything Was Strife

The storm that had been hanging over the city all day broke just after Steve got back to the roof. Bucky looked up at the sky, grimacing, but it was obvious from his stance that he didn’t want to move.

“We need to get inside,” Steve said, as the thunder rolled. 

“It’s just rain,” Bucky said tersely. 

Peggy gave Steve a quick look and nod of reassurance, enough to make him back up, and somehow, she persuaded Bucky to come back inside. 

Steve didn’t know what she’d said, but it worked, and he was grateful. She led them through the upper levels of the building to a deserted room that overlooked Parliament Square. It was clean, stacked high with boxes of files.

“Your maps,” she said to Steve.

“I wondered where they went,” he said, even though he hadn’t. He didn’t care about the maps right now. He was more concerned about how pale Bucky was. He could see the marks on Bucky’s face where he’d sunk his nails into his skin.

“Here,” Peggy ushered Bucky to one of the broader boxes. “That should be sturdy enough to take your weight.”

Bucky sat down on it without meeting her eyes. He was holding a scrap of white cloth tightly in his hand. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she said. “Steve, perhaps you could clean Sergeant Barnes’ wounds properly.”

The door closed behind her, and Steve sighed, looking at Bucky. “You going to be a stubborn punk or you going to let me patch you up?”

A small, tired smile crossed Bucky’s face. “Turn about, Rogers,” he said, leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed. “How many times did I have to sit on you to hold you still?”

Steve looked at the tray of medical kit in his hand. It was nothing like the trays of equipment that were in the HYDRA laboratory, but it brought back the memory too clearly. He set it down on the window ledge.

“You mind if I clean them up?” he asked without turning.

“Sure,” Bucky murmured.

Steve picked up the bottle of antiseptic and the wad of gauze. “I’m sorry,” he said as he turned. “Dragging you back in here.”

Bucky opened his eyes wearily. “It was going to happen either way,” he said. “At least you got me out so you could bring me back in.” He pushed himself upright, and Steve could see the effort as he tried to smile. “You going to stand there yakking all day or are you going to disinfect me?”

Steve tried to match the smile. He had a feeling it was just as forced. “You going to hold still or do I need to…” He cut off the words. The last thing Bucky needed was someone joking about holding him down. 

God, he didn’t even want to think about what they had done to him.

Bucky must have guessed what he was thinking. “I’ve knocked you on your ass before, Rogers,” he said, his hands twisting the white cloth. “Don’t think getting blown up like Popeye’s gonna change that if you try and sit on me.”

Still, when Steve came closer, Bucky’s shoulders bunched, and Steve could see the muscles twitching in his jaw. He kept the swipes of the disinfectant as quick and light as he could, but by the time he was done, Bucky was breathing hard.

“Bad?”

Dark blue eyes locked on his face. “What?”

“The pain?”

Bucky shook his head tightly. “The smell,” he said. “Like there.”

In all the smoke and fire and bitter tang of sulphur, Steve hadn’t noticed. He swore under his breath and stoppered the bottle, hurling the antiseptic-soaked gauze out of the window. He shoved it up as high as he could to let some fresher air in.

Bucky lifted the white cloth to his face, covering his nose and mouth with it.

It took a second for Steve to realise what it was. The monogrammed ‘M’ stitched onto the corner in pale purple thread gave it away. 

“Agent Carter’s?” he asked, sitting down on one of the other boxes.

Bucky nodded, breathing in whatever scent was on it. “Smells like my mom’s closet.” His voice was muffled, but the tension was draining from him.

“Lavender,” Steve guessed. “Your mom made those little bags of the stuff. I guess they do it over here too.”

“Yeah. It stinks.”

They were still sitting like that when Peggy came back. She had one of the wooden trays that people used to carry around teapots and cups, but had laid out a clean cloth on it. She set it down on one of the boxes and Steve could see the array of medical equipment.

“Peggy,” he began, rising.

“It’s okay, Steve.” Bucky was the one to speak up. He’d lowered the handkerchief, but his focus was on the tray now. “We gotta do this.”

Peggy looked up at Steve with a reassuring smile. “Sergeant Barnes would rather be tended by a former nurse and I am quite capable of doing a standard check-up,” she said, and Steve understood at once. Too many doctors, too much like the place they had barely escaped from.

“She’s better-looking than the old guy as well,” Bucky said, offering Peggy a shadow of his old smile. 

“Also true,” she said dismissively. “Would you mind rolling your sleeve up, sergeant?”

Bucky was pale as he did so. “Steve,” he said unsteadily, without taking his eyes from the tray. “You mind doing what I used to do for you?”

Steve flinched, but nodded, coming over to stand beside him. He put one hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It looked like a light touch, but it was firm enough that he and Bucky both knew he could hold him steady if he tried to lash out.

The contact helped. Bucky drew a deep breath and released it.

“Okay, Nurse Carter,” he said unsteadily. “Do what you gotta.”

Peggy nodded. “You never did tell me how you two met,” she said conversationally, as she started arranging the equipment on her tray. 

“Give you three guesses,” Bucky said, watching the tray.

Peggy glanced up at Steve, nodded slightly. “Was he arguing with someone by any chance?”

Steve gave Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’re trying to make me look bad.”

“Says the guy who picked a fight with the biggest kid in the school yard,” Bucky said, his shoulder sinking beneath Steve’s hand as the tension eased in his body. He tore his eyes from the tray to look up. “We never did find your tooth, did we?”

Peggy’s lips twitched. “I see he never outgrew the tendency to stand up for himself,” she said, and as smoothly as silk, she slipped the syringe into Bucky’s arm. He looked around, startled, earning a quick, small smile from her. 

She filled one vial, twisted it free, then filled another, and had the needle withdrawn in less than thirty seconds. 

“I feel I should be giving you some kind of confection for being brave,” she teased, and Steve knew he couldn’t have loved her more for how kind she was being to Bucky.

Bucky laughed, a tight burst of relief. “I got some sugar I can share,” he said.

“Really, Buck?” Steve said with a lop-sided smile.

When Bucky looked up at him, and smiled, it reached his eyes for the first time since he’d been freed. “You never did appreciate the classics,” he said. He looked back at Peggy, who was pressing a ball of wool to his arm. “Thanks.”

She gave him one of her brief smiles. “Shall we see how many more of the boxes we can tick on the form, sergeant?”

Bucky nodded, reaching up with his other hand to cover Steve’s hand on his shoulder, gripping it like a lifeline. “See how we go,” he said. 

 

_______________________________________________

 

Steve was gone.

He and Barnes were to return to the barracks, and she wasn’t at all surprised at the look of relief on the sergeant’s face. 

They had completed almost all the checks she was capable of doing, but finally Barnes sat back, shook his head, and Steve said that it was enough. Given what he had been through, she had to admit she was impressed by Barnes’s resolve.

She made her way back down through the building to the medical wing and doctor Erskine.

The facilities were deserted.

They had expected to be processing Steve and Barnes, but in the end, all they got was some shattered equipment and a badly-bruised doctor. Erskine had dismissed them all by the time she went to fetch the medical equipment, and he was the one waiting for her on her return.

“It went well?” he asked, rising from his chair when entered. 

“Well enough,” she replied, carrying the tray over to his work bench. She glanced at him with a frown. “Are you sure you shouldn’t have taken the afternoon, doctor? You don’t look altogether well.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “It is only a small knock to the head,” he said. “I can work well enough.” He examined the tray, then looked back at her. “You were not harmed?”

Peggy shook her head. “He was on edge, but co-operated,” she said. “We didn’t manage all of the tests, but we have blood samples, blood pressure, temperature, and as many results as I could get.”

“Good,” Erskine murmured, picking up one of the vials of blood and turning it over in his hand. “Good. That is very good.” He raised his eyes to her. “And Private Rogers?”

“He says he’ll come back in this afternoon,” she replied. “He took Barnes back to the barracks to get settled. He thought it best that the sergeant was allowed some time to recuperate in the company of his men.”

The doctor nodded, setting the vial back down and picking up the clipboard.

“Doctor,” Peggy asked carefully, “I don’t mean to pry, but do you have any idea what was done to the poor man?”

“I am afraid I do,” he replied without meeting her eyes. “Some of what he said made it clear that they tested different serums more than once.” He released an unsteady breath. “I should have smashed the samples I had when I was there.”

“This wasn’t your doing, doctor,” she murmured. “You couldn’t have known they would do this.”

He looked at her then. “You know you need not lie to comfort me, Agent Carter,” he said. “If I had not begun this serum, if Schmidt had not learned of it, none of this would have come to pass.”

“And Private Rogers,” she murmured, “would most likely be dead before he reached his thirties. You have saved the life of a good man, and he, in turn, saved the lives of hundreds.”

The doctor’s lined face softened into a small, tired smile. “This is true,” he agreed.

She reached out, taking his hand and squeezing it briefly. “If anything is a sign of the good your work has done, it’s Steve.”

He looked at her more closely with a broader smile. “Ah,” he said, as if a question had been answered. “You are the lady who woke the changes in him.”

Peggy drew back. “Pardon?”

“We have hypothesized,” Erskine said, still smiling, “that it is a combination of adrenaline and endorphins of a particular type that trigger these changes. Specifically when he is in an unexpected or dangerous situation, but he has something that pleases him: being useful to his allies, saving his friend…” His eyes met hers. “Dancing with a beautiful woman.”

Peggy recalled the sunrise on the roof, the morning after their dance. 

“Oh,” she said, unsurprised to feel blood rushing to her cheeks. “I had no idea.” She clenched her hands into fists, then loosened them again. “I would hope this isn’t common knowledge.”

“That Private Rogers is fond of you is not a secret,” Erskine replied. “The effect it has on him? Yes. I thought it wise to keep that from the records.”

It was a small relief, otherwise she knew Stark would rib her mercilessly about it.

“What about Barnes?” she asked, steering the conversation back on course. “Would he have a similar trigger?”

Erskine’s smile faded. “This, we do not know yet,” he said. 

Yet was an unpleasant thought.

“So he could go the way of Schmidt?”

Erskine was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “I do not believe so,” he said. “The serum, with him it is working at once. His anger, his violence, they made him powerful. It is possible the serum Zola created will not work at all.”

“Or it could be triggered by another emotion,” Peggy murmured. She looked at Erskine in concern. “What would happen to a man whose trigger was terror?”

He shook his head. “Let us hope we do not find out.”


	19. Uncharted Waves

The other survivors of the 107th were in the mess hall when Steve got Bucky back to the barracks. They greeted Bucky with a cheerful shout, which said a lot about how much he was respected by them. Bucky didn't even seem to notice. He was glancing around the room, as if assessing it for danger.

It was a pattern Steve had noticed a lot since he'd hauled Bucky out of Schmidt's factory. Most of the other prisoners were just so relieved to be out that they weren't as tense, but Bucky was watching their perimeter constantly. Even when they were resting, Bucky's eyes were darting everywhere. It was as if he'd forgotten how to stand down, even when they were in a safe location. 

Maybe it was days of being locked up in a cell. Maybe it was because he was the senior officer of the survivors and didn't want to see his men captured again. Maybe it was down to the tests they had done on him. Maybe it was fear of being taken back.

As much as Steve hated to think about it, it was probably a bit of all of those things.

"Buck?"

"Mm?"

Steve nudged him. "You hungry?"

There was a moment of silence before Bucky shrugged. "I could eat."

While they were still being rationed, the food they pulled together in the city was still better than anything available out in the field. Steve stacked a plate high and handed it to his friend, then filled another for himself. 

"You want to sit with your guys?"

Bucky shook his head. "Not right now." He glanced at Steve. "They're good guys, but I don't need more people asking how I'm doing."

Steve nodded, jerking his head towards a table at the far end of the room. "I know that feeling."

Bucky snorted, quiet and tired. "Yeah, I bet. Turn about, huh, Rogers? My turn to be picked over by the docs and treated like I'm made of glass."

Steve glanced at him, concerned, as they sat down. "At least you're not short."

For a split-second, a smile flicked across Bucky's face. "Yeah. At least I'm not short." He picked up his fork, prodding at the mess of food on his plate. "Used to be able to put you over my shoulder and carry you like a sack of potatoes." 

"Like you ever did that!" Steve protested. 

Bucky glanced up at him. "You forgetting that Dodgers game in 32?"

Steve winced. He could remember it all too well: some Jersey punk had picked a fight with them after the game, and it ended up with Steve with a bloody nose and a shiner, slung over Bucky's shoulder to stop him going back to finish the job. 

It was true that finishing the job would probably have ended up with him in a ball on the sidewalk, spitting out teeth, but it was the principle of the thing.

"That doesn't count. He insulted the Dodgers."

Bucky smiled tiredly at his plate. "Whatever you say, Chief." He skewered some of the eggs, chewing and swallowing mechanically. 

Steve watched him with concern, and the fact that Bucky didn't even glare or complain about him staring or roll his eyes was just giving him more reason to be worried.

"You need to get back over there," Bucky said suddenly.

"What?"

"The doctor. He needs to check you over, doesn't he? Make sure you're all in working order?"

"It can wait," Steve demurred. "We've got a little down time before the debrief this afternoon. We could go out in the city if you want? Or down by the river, if you want somewhere quiet.”

Bucky shook his head tightly. "You need to be checked over." His voice was clipped. "I... they need to make sure you're not going to explode or... or..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

Steve knew at once what he was worrying about. He'd seen Schmidt too. He'd seen the man's face come away in his hands. If Bucky was worrying about that fate for himself, then there was no reason he wouldn't think it would happen to Steve too. 

He reached leaned over the table and caught Bucky's wrist. "I'm okay, Buck. Really." Under his hand, he felt the muscle in Bucky's arm tensing. If it was upsetting him so much, there was a simple solution. "I'll head back over after I've eaten. Just to be sure. Okay?"

Bucky jerked his head in a tight nod. "Yeah. Just to be sure."

"You can stay here with the guys, if you want."

The tension was still radiating out from him, and Steve could feel Bucky's pulse jumping through his skin. "Maybe I'll just find my bunk. Get some rest." He pulled his arm back and rubbed at his eyes. "I'm pretty tired."

"If that's what you want."

Bucky only nodded, avoiding Steve's eyes.

As soon as they finished their meal, Steve took Bucky up to the hall assigned as their barracks. Bucky sat down on his bed, tugging the laces of his boots. 

"You sure you don't want me to stay?" Steve asked quietly.

Bucky shook his head. "I'm a big boy, Rogers." He pulled off one boot. "I'm pretty sure I can manage to nap without you." He raised his eyes to Steve. "Anyway, you have somewhere you need to be."

Steve nodded reluctantly. "If you need anything, just ask one of the guys out front. They’ll point you in the right direction."

Bucky lay back on the bed. "I'll manage," he said, then turned onto his side, showing Steve his back, making it clear that the conversation was over. 

Steve retreated from the barracks and headed back out into the city. He couldn't help frowning as he walked, wondering if there was some way that he could actually help Bucky. Going to Erskine and getting himself cleared for duty was a start. Maybe knowing they were both physically okay would make a difference. 

 

________________________________________________

 

The examination room was so quiet compared to the organised chaos of the rest of the building. The silence was almost distracting, the only sound the scratch of Doctor Erskine's pen on paper as he updated Sergeant Barnes's record.

Peggy was seated at one of the vacant desks, reading through the initial debriefing files. They were the shorthand notes taken from as many of the survivors as quickly possible, which naturally meant they were succinct and lacking in detail, but some of them had hints of what might have occurred.

"He wasn't the only one they were experimenting on," she observed, raising her eyes from the page to look over at the doctor. "There were at least half a dozen. He was the only survivor."

Doctor Erskine nodded grimly. "I thought this might be so. Schmidt was... not a patient man."

"I remember."

A year earlier - Lord was it only a year? - she had been the one to infiltrate Schmidt's base, to find out what fate had befallen Doctor Erskine, who had long been considered an ally of the United States. She spent weeks undercover, playing the loyal housegirl, until she had found the doctor alive, though weak and ill. Another handful of days followed before she was able to get him out.

She had crossed Schmidt's path more than once in those fear- and adrenaline-filled days. He was always flanked by loyal aides, so there was no opportunity to terminate him, no matter how tempting it was. He was a cruel and violent man, and she had seen him unleashing his temper on Erskine or anyone who did not obey him promptly enough. 

When it came to Project Rebirth, Peggy knew only the basics of what the serum was meant to do, but everyone involved knew it enhanced what was already there. In Steve's case, his courage - and recklessness - had been boosted dramatically. In Schmidt? The concept was quite frankly terrifying. 

The door opened, and both of them turned.

“Steven,” Erskine said, rising. “Your friend?”

“He’s resting back at the barracks,” Steve replied. He looked tired and worried. “I got some food into him, but I don’t know how much it helped.”

“It is better than nothing,” Erskine said at once. “And you. You have eaten? Rested?”

“Eaten, yes, but Buck was right. You need to do your checks on me too.”

Peggy set down her pen. “I ought to leave you to it.”

“No,” Steve turned to her. He was already undoing the buttons of his shirt. “We need to talk about what’s going on with Bucky. You’re one of the only people he’s spoken to since he got out. He might have said something to you that Abraham needs to hear.”

Erskine looked between them, then went over to the door and locked it. “For this, I think it is better if we are not interrupted.”

Steve sank down on the examination table, relief warring with fatigue. He had barely stopped since the liberation of the 107th. The only time Peggy could recall him resting was the night she had forced him to lay his head down and sleep. There was too much to get done, he kept saying.

Some things never changed.

Doctor Erskine approached the table and laid out his medical equipment. “You know there were others who were used for tests?” He spoke quietly as he started checking Steve’s vitals. “Agent Carter is reading this in the reports.”

Steve nodded grimly. “When I got the guys out of the cages, they said people were taken away a lot. They didn’t know what was happening to them.”

“I’m afraid Sergeant Barnes was the only survivor,” Peggy murmured as she carried a tray of swabs and a bottle of alcohol over for Erskine. “You said he was fastened down when you found him?”

“Leather straps,” Steve confirmed quietly, watching as Erskine slipped a needle smoothly into his arm. “It wasn’t like the strap around my chest either, in New York. They were screwed in place. No fastenings.” His voice was brittle. “It wasn’t temporary.”

Peggy shivered. “They must have thought it was going to work,” she murmured, “if they believed he would need strong restraints.”

“Or it was too painful for him to stay still.” Steve’s hands clenched into fists on his thighs. He looked at her. “Did he say anything about it to you?”

He had, but there were some cruelties that he didn’t need to know about, not when he was already ready to break. “He said it was painful, yes,” she replied. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either. “But by the time you reached him, he said he can scarcely remember what they were doing to him.”

Steve looked away, his features twisting up in distress. “I should have come back sooner,” he whispered. “All the time we wasted making me run in circles, when they had him. The others too. They might not have died.”

“This was not your fault, Steven,” Erskine said gently. He set aside the sphynomanometer, and pressed his hand to the back of Steve’s wrist. “You did not know. We did not know.”

“He’s right, Steve,” Peggy murmured. “As far as anyone knew, the troops were all but wiped out. If we had known how many were still alive…”

She trailed off. It was impossible to say what they would have done. It was possible that Phillips might have approved action, but then they had to take potential casualty rate into account. Steve’s arrival and his tendency to do the impossible had changed everything.

Steve looked at Erskine. “Do you think their serum will work?”

“I wish I could tell you answers,” Erskine replied unhappily, “but this I do not know.” He put the pressure cuff around Steve’s arm, to check his blood pressure. “Do you see any differences in your friend? Anything that was not there before?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted. “He’s just… he’s not the same, but I’m not the same either, and I don’t know how much of it is because of that. He doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

“Was he always so wary?” Peggy murmured.

“Wary how?”

“He seems very aware of his surroundings. Guarded.”

Steve hesitated. “No. No, Buck was always really relaxed.” He frowned. “He’s tenser than usual. I thought… I mean, he was taken prisoner. I thought it might be because of that, but it could be…” His frown deepened. “He used to always watch out for me. Now, it looks like he’s watching out for everyone.”

Peggy glanced at Erskine. “Enhancing what was there?”

“It is possible,” Erskine said. He was grey-faced and grim. “On other hand, he could be protecting his people, to keep them from his fate. Until we can get results from his blood work, we cannot be sure there have been changes to him.”

“But if it was the serum, then it might not be the only change,” Steve said. He looked up at Peggy. “He can’t know. Not until we know what’s happening.”

She nodded in agreement. It felt cruel to lie to the man, but if he believed he was changing, corrupted by a Nazi’s experiments, it might well lead him on a downward spiral, especially given how fragile he already was. “We’ll keep eyes on him, you and I,” she said. “If there are any signs of deterioration or change…”

“We tell him straight away,” Steve agreed. “Abraham, I know it’s a big ask, but…”

“I will do it.” The doctor nodded. “He does not need to be seen as a threat by the high command,” he agreed. “We will watch him and keep him from their attention until we know what must be done.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you,” he whispered. “ _Thank you_.”


End file.
